


Sugar and Spice

by Crescent_Moon_Demon



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash, Some dub-con, fairytales - Freeform, rewrites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:25:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 49,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Moon_Demon/pseuds/Crescent_Moon_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a land far away, once upon a time, our favourite 'bots were... what? Princesses! Classic fairytales re-written to include our favourites mechs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be informed that the story of Beauty and the Beasts is intended as Dub-con and arguably as thus. I apologize if it is not to your liking. All chapters are considered complete but I might always add more if I find interesting enough ways to re-write other fairytales. Hope you all enjoy in either case!  
> Originally posted on FF.net.

"That's it! I've had it up to _here_ with those morons!"

"Hey Snow," Tracks greeted distractedly, his face in a mirror. Ratchet growled at the accursed nickname, whirling on the winged mech.

"Don't you start with me!," he yelled. "Primus -I hate that blasted title! Every single day, some crankshaft making an overdone, stupid crack about how I'm all white and my title is 'Snow White'."

"Did Wheeljack try to be funny again, sir?," First Aid spoke up timidly from where he was, baking at the stove. Perceptor, helping him, looked up at the white mech just as Ratchet screamed to the rafters above.

"I guess that would be a yes...," the two 'bots whispered to themselves.

"Honestly, I don't even see why they deigned you Snow White," Tracks sniffed disdainfully, turning away from the vanity. "Who would be jealous of _you_?"

"If you don't shut up right now, I'm going to tear you a new one!," Ratchet screamed.

"I-i'd listen to him, sir," First Aid directed to the other 'bot.

"Quite," Perceptor agreed. "I'm sure that living with five dinobots would temper any 'bot with a series of brutal and violent methods in which to use against those they find irritating."

All mechs present, not counting the one still huffing like a beast, looked at the scientist dryly. "W-well," the red mech stuttered, grabbing his books. "I-i suppose I shall be going now. I want to return these to the library and pick up some new ones before they close this evening."

"Goodbye, Belle," First Aid waved in farewell. Perceptor waved back, heading out the door.

Shrugging indifferently, Tracks turned back to the mirror and his intense study of himself. "I wonder where our dearest Riding Hood has gotten off to," the young medic pondered aloud.

"Oh, he's probably gotten himself lost again," the winged mech replied in boredom. "He's always going on about how these woods are _too large_ and the path _too dark_. He probably saw optics following him again and has locked himself tight in his cabin. The guy always was such a spazz."

First Aid frowned at Tracks' callous comment, distracting himself by pulling his tray of energon goodies out of the oven. "Still... I worry about Red Alert," he sighed. "I hope everything is alright with him."

Ratchet sighed as he plopped into a free chair, smacking his helm onto the table. "Aid...," he pleaded, "Pour me a glass of high-grade, please."

Tracks chuckled a little as the medic's protege hurried to comply to the request. "Oh, Cinderella... don't you ever get tired of running around, doing errands for people?"

The aforementioned mech actually paused in what he was doing, shuttering his optics innocently at the winged Autobot. "Of course not," he replied, slightly confused.

"Stop picking, Tracks," Ratchet growled. "Otherwise, I swear I will lock you up in that same fragging tower with Mirage. Let you two tear each other apart for the rest of eternity."

First Aid tried not to smile at the pout that showed up on Tracks' face.

* * *

**Beauty and The Beasts**

* * *

 

Sunstreaker was unhappy. He growled as Sideswipe tried to sling an arm around his shoulders, tearing away from his brother. "Oh, c'mon Sunny!," the red twin pleaded sheepishly. "It was an accident, I swear!"

"Accidents," the other prince growled. "It's _always_ an accident with you! Can you not do something so stupid for once. You almost damaged my paintjob!"

Sideswipe scratched the back of his helm contritely. "Well, um..."

"And now we've been kicked out of our own palace! Why the slag would I want to be stuck in this stupid, little village all day!?," Sunstreaker practically bellowed at his brother.

"But, uh... Oh, hey, look at that!," Sideswipe thrust a finger over the yellow mech's shoulder, turning and bolting when his brother actually turned at his motion. Realizing an astrosecond after that he had been duped, the volatile prince whirled back around, howling in rage when he saw that the red mech had used the opportunity to make his escape.

"When I find you Sideswipe, I'm going to break your helm in!"

XXXXXXX

Perceptor gasped in surprise as he was knocked into suddenly; falling to the ground, his books scattering all over the place. "Oh dear...," he groaned, trying to get back up. He had to get these books back to the library, or else he'd have to wait until tomorrow to get his new items and he didn't really want to spend the evening alone without his favourite textbook on particle physics.

Unfortunately though, the scientist found that he just couldn't move yet. Making a small noise in confusion, he lifted his helm -about the only thing that he could still move- staring down at the weight pinning him to the floor. He squeaked in alarm, servos flying to his face as he saw that it was another mech lying on top of him.

"W-what... Why, _hello!_ " The red 'bot lifted his helm, flashing a sparkling set of denta at Perceptor. Getting up a little, the other Autobot quickly ran his navy blue optics down the smaller mech's frame; still wearing that cheeky grin. "Aren't you a cute lil' thing."

"O-oh my...," Perceptor mumbled, his cheekplates burning brightly at the lewd look. He hurried to get out from under the stranger. "I-i'm so sorry," he stuttered. "I-i-i-i must n-not have been watching wh-where I was going a-and-"

"That's quite alright," the other mech cut in. He leaned in closer, a servo stroking along the scientist's hip plating. "The name's Sideswipe. I'm sure you heard of that handsome, talented, young and brilliant prince - _yeah_ , that's totally me. Wanna go somewhere private, just the two of us?"

The princess eeped when that wandering servo dipped lower, squeezing his aft.

"I-i-i have to g-go!," Perceptor squeaked, shoving Sideswipe off him suddenly. "G-goodbye!" Grabbing his books, the smaller mech hightailed it out of there.

Sideswipe picked himself up off the ground, staring in disbelief at the direction that the nameless Autobot had just run off in. _Seriously_ , was his only thought. Had he just been rejected?

XXXXXXX

Sunstreaker never realized just how much he hated the library until it became the only hopes for entertainment to him. Growling under his intakes lowly, the prince stalked through the shelves, having long since abandoned the thought that any of the books could occupy his processor for a whole day. Just how was he supposed to get through an entire orn?! Everything he wanted was at home -a place out of his reach at the moment, since all of his servants had unanimously decided that both princes needed to be locked out, for their own sakes as well as the staff's. Those peasants even had the ball-bearings to tell the twins they weren't to come back until nightfall at the earliest!

Sideswipe he could see... His stupid brother was always pulling practical jokes, stressing out their over-worked staff as it was. But why him?! Sunstreaker never stooped to the same levels as the red mech, so why did he have to get punished alongside him?

Not that this could probably be deigned as a punishment to Sideswipe. His twin had probably already found himself a 'bot to frag to pass the time.

Growling harder now, the yellow prince continued his angry marching.

"Oh, yes, they were quite a delight to read," said a voice up ahead. Turning the corner, Sunstreaker came to an abrupt halt, almost swallowing his glossa in shock. Before his very optics was the loveliest aft if he ever did see one; lifting his gaze, the temperamental mech was pleasantly surprised to see that it belonged to an even cuter Autobot.

"I'm glad to hear that," the librarian was saying to the stranger. "Are you going to look around before checking out your other books today?"

"Hmmm... yes, I think I shall," replied the other. He smiled sweetly, tipping his helm politely to the librarian. "I'll be back in a few kliks." Turning, he quickly padded down another aisle, that soft smile still on his lip components.

Maybe this orn wouldn't be so bad after all. Sunstreaker hurried towards the librarian, looming over the smaller mech. "You," he hissed, "Who was that mech you were just talking to now?"

The other Autobot quailed under the prince's dark glare, trembling loudly in his plating. "H-him?," he squeaked fearfully. "T-that was B-belle, the r-region's number one sc-scientist."

A nerd, huh? That was somewhat disconcerting... but also an honorary princess as well? That was interesting. Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder plating in the direction that Perceptor had gone, before turning his fevered optics to the librarian again. "What's his name exactly?," he demanded impatiently.

"U-uh, I b-believe it is Perceptor, m-my lord..."

"Good. We didn't talk, understood?"

The frightened mech's helm nodded rapidly. Satisfied, the yellow twin turned on his pede, stalking down the aisle, towards his unsuspecting prey. His smirk and hungry optics shone in the darkness, systems purring lightly as he headed for his target. The librarian quickly turned away, silently apologizing to his favourite client in his helm.

XXXXXXX

Oh, that looked like an interesting one!

Perceptor pulled the large tome down from the shelf, grunting lightly as the action prompted him to stand on pede-tip to reach the book. He cradled it in his arms once he had it, about to crack it open and look inside, when a servo winding around his waist kept him from achieving that.

"Y-yes?," the princess asked timidly, turning around to see who was behind him. He was pinned by a lustful look coming from the yellow mech towering over him.

"Good afternoon," greeted the other Autobot, his vocalizer a captivating baritone. "The name is Sunstreaker. I thought I might ask if I could keep you company."

"O-oh, well," Perceptor tittered, backing slowly away from Sunstreaker. Optics flickered from floor to mech uncertainly, a shy blush creeping across the princess' cheekplates.  "I-i-i'm really quite alright on my own," he replied added quickly; anything to have such unexpected attention removed.

"What if I said that I was feeling a little lonely, and wished for someone to spend these next few cycles with?," the prince asked, matching every step the scientist made. With his optics fixed wholly on the bigger mech, poor Perceptor never noticed the alcove and its plushy armchair until he had already walked into them both.

"I-i-i'm s-sorry, but I-i r-really am -ah!" The red Autobot gasped as he tripped, falling back into the armchair, legs splaying across the armrests. Sunstreaker took this opportunity presented to him, diving onto his knees and shouldering between those open thighs.

"Don't be so shy," he leered, fingers already at work, gently pulling back the scientist's codpiece. "I don't think I've ever seen someone as cute as you. I bet you'll look utterly ravishing after you've overloaded."

"W-wait! I-i-i- Oooh!" Perceptor's protests morphed into a moan as Sunstreaker lunged forward, mouth wrapping around his pressurizing spike. His servos tightened around the book he was still grasping, digging his faceplates into the cover as the prince swallowed him whole, glossa sliding along the underside of his cable, exciting the sensor nodes there. "O-oh Primus!," he keened, bucking into the suckling mouth. "P-please, o-ooh, y-you mu-mustn't! I-i'm-!"

He screamed as the yellow mech scrapped his denta along his spike as he withdrew. "Stop whining," the other Autobot growled irritably. "You act as if you've never done this bef-," his optics by chance dropped down to the valve just below the rigid length; lubricants pooling against the pink skin covering the aperture. "Y-you're sealed?!," Sunstreaker shuttered his optics in surprise for a moment, before his lust came rushing back in. "You're _sealed_ ," he repeated lecherously, smirking wickedly at the blushing princess. "Well, allow me to be the first, Percy."

He bent forwards again, licking and laving at the plastic covering; feeling it slowly give under his constant attentions. Lubricant gushed within that untouched valve, just begging to be free, as Perceptor began to gasp and whimper once more; adorable hips wriggling forward into the lashing appendage on their own accord. "P-please, S-sunstreaker," he cried, writhing. "S-sir, pl-please, don't! I-it's dirt-"

The scientist wailed as the seal suddenly snapped, hot liquids spurting from his valve and trickling down his pelvic plating to the cushion below. The prince lapped at the lubricant quickly, reaching back up and swirling his glossa into that tight passage. Electricity tickled against his grey appendage, sensor nodes crackling as they were stimulated for the first time. The sensations and the taste were addictive -Sunstreaker couldn't get enough. He pressed closer, his whole lip components molded around that dripping hole as he ate out the princess with fervour, driven into a mad frenzy with every scream and gasp of pleasure Perceptor gave.

More, he just had to have more!

Just when it was becoming too tight behind his own codpiece, Perceptor let loose one, final wail of ecstatic desperation; overloading in the armchair, filling Sunstreaker's mouth with his viscous fluids. The yellow mech swallowed sharply around the unexpected load, catching himself before he choked. He continued suckling on the tired valve, using his glossa to lick up any stray beads of lubricant dribbling out of those clenching cables. "Really beautiful," he purred lowly, looking up at the red mech.

Perceptor's optics were dimmed, swollen lip components -nibbled that way from his own attempts to silence his moaning- slightly agape as the princess tried to equalize his intakes. The thighs around his helm were still trembling, flashes of heat spiking across the other's sensory net from the over-stimulation. A healthy layer of condensation also slicked that rosy paintjob; the poor encyclopedia that Perceptor had been grasping, squished unceremoniously against the Autobot's chestplates.

"Much too beautiful," Sunstreaker commented, feeling his core temperature rise another notch. "Tempting me to devour you once again, looking as lovely as you are."

The scientist's blush darkened, everything but his optics disappearing behind the book. "I-i-i..." Coolant collected in those blue orbs, Perceptor's vocalizer awash with shame. The prince straightened up suddenly, not expecting the tears.

"H-hey!," he stammered. "T-there's no need to cry! L-listen, let me take you back to my palace. We'll get you cleaned up, fed -you can e-even take a look at our own book collection. I'm sure there'll be something there for you to like!"

The princess only shrunk further into the chair. Sunstreaker, sighed, lost at what to do. He helped cover the red mech again, gently grasping his elbows and pulling him into a proper sitting position. "Perceptor...," he began softly, still kneeling. "Yes, I know your name," he answered at the frightened, baffled expression sent his way. "You are the Belle of the lands; many know your name. Forgive me, what I've done surely must feel like an insult. But I promise that isn't the case. Would you allow me the chance to prove you wrong in your assumptions?"

He didn't quite understand what prompted him to say all that, but seeing that little mech begin to weep caused a cold piece of shrapnel to dig itself into Sunstreaker's spark. He suddenly wished never to see Perceptor in pain, and certainly not because of anything he had ever done. That's why he had decided, in that split second, that he would bring the princess home and court him. Even if he was a geek. The yellow prince couldn't bare the thought of anyone else touching Perceptor like this, or receiving any of his beautiful smiles.

At his begging, Perceptor slowly lowered his book, looking at the prince hopefully. "...re-really?"

Sunstreaker nodded, spark pulsing erratically when those soft lip components quirked in a timid smile. "A-alright...," the red 'bot whispered. "I-i am w-willing to accept y-your proposition."

The bigger mech tried his best to hide his joy. "Come," he said, rising to his pedes suddenly, and pulling Perceptor up with him. He wrapped a strong arm around the scientist's waist, purring at the warmth that pooled along his side immediately at the action. "Let us go. We just have to stop first and find my idiot of a brother."

"B-brother?"

XXXXXXX

"T-this is your b-brother?," Perceptor squeaked, attempting to hide behind Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe gaped at the sight of the scientist, feeling as if the whole universe were playing a mean trick on him. "How the slag did you find him, when I've been looking for this cutie for a whole cycle already?!," he demanded, looking at Sunstreaker.

His twin frowned, crossing his arms over his chestplate. "I just did. And I plan on taking him home this very klik -the servants be damned- so I might begin courting him. Dear Percy here is to be my mate," Sunstreaker declared smugly.

Sideswipe shuttered his optics for a moment, before a devilish grin split his own faceplates. "Well, then, I guess I'll just have to court Perceptor as well," he cooed, winking at the blushing princess. "After all, I just don't want to lose my adorable Belle either."

The yellow mech was silent for an astrosecond. "Fine," he agreed. "But I've already gotten a taste," he added, taunting his twin.

The red prince gasped in dismay, before pouting like a spoiled sparkling. Perceptor, embarrassed, looked at the two mechs. Oh, just what had he gotten himself into now?

* * *

**Snow White**

* * *

 

Once upon a time, a poor femme, with too weak a spark for carrying, prayed to Primus above for a sparkling to call her own. She spent many vorns talking to the deity, even when her faith was at its weakest and she thought that Primus was either not listening or refused to grant her wish. Sitting at the window one orn, she prayed again, and inspired by the beauty of the winter wonderland just beyond the pane, adjusted her wish some. "I would love either a little mech or a little femme," she prayed, "With plating as white as the snow, and optics the same shade of the crystals. Let them have a chevron as grey as the stone, and servos as red as the sun, and make them so they would be willing to heal a 'bot in need."

Less than a stellar cycle later, the femme became sparked. Unfortunately, her frame was indeed too weak and shortly after the sparkling had been protoformed, the femme died, leaving her young mechling all alone. A good medic took the bornling in, raising him as his own, which sparked some jealousy among his own creations who were just as spurned in their feelings when the orphaned mech turned out to be amazingly talented in the medical field as well. Having had enough of their creator constantly fawning over the protege, they turned on their adopted brother, threatening that he leave or else they would make him.

Well, Ratchet, being this young orphan, took one look at his obnoxious step-siblings; drew out his wrench, beat them cold for daring to threaten anyone, and casually left his adopted creator's home. He headed out into the woods, intent on finding himself his own place to call home. He wound up finding a run-down cabin, abandoned some years ago. He fixed it up, morphing the front section of the cabin into a sort of medical facility, and sent out word to the nearest villages about his clinic. Patients were soon to come along.

One of these such patients was a rather handsome mech that drove Ratchet up the wall. Every time he came in to get patched up, it was always for some grievous injury, made by his own servos! The medic had blown up in the stranger's face one time especially, after the mech came in, cradling his servos in his arms after having them blown clean off of his very wrists. After all the yelling had finished though, the stranger's headfins merely flashed in his joy, as he said, "My name's Wheeljack, Ratch. Yeh can call meh th't when 'thoughtless, stupid moron' grows old."

Ratchet never thought that such easy, calm words would have made his spark pulse wildly, or his cheekplates to turn pink with his blush.

But fall in love with the mad, crazy inventor of a prince he did, which landed him here, vorns later...

XXXXXXX

"Slaggit...Wheeljack!" Ratchet stood in the doorway of his cabin -now extended in the back to a sizeable mansion- his optics a dark indigo in his rage. Everything, all of his tools and other essential materials for repairs, had been scattered all over the clinic's floor; smashed, bent or otherwise pulverized into oblivion. "Wheeljack! I know you can hear me! Get down here, right now!"

Something shifted behind the medical berth, and the princess zoned in on it, crossing the room quickly in three, long strides. "Wheeljack," he hissed, pushing the furniture aside. Ratchet was shocked to see not the cerulean optics of his mate looking back, but the calm, naive grey-blue orbs of his youngest son, Swoop.

"Swoop...," the medic sighed.

"Swoop am," the dinobot agreed. "Is momma bot okay? Swoop say momma bot look tired."

Of course, he was tired! He couldn't leave the room for more than five kliks without his sons tearing it apart in his absence. It was not like they did it purposefully, but their rambunctious playing always led to the clinic eventually, where it was destroyed in the moments of their passing. He had specifically told Wheeljack to be mindful of where their sons were playing, but did that mech ever listen to him? NO!

"Do you know where your daddy has gone?," he asked the pterodactyl. Swoop canted his helm to the side, shuttering his optics innocently.

"Me Swoop say dada not gone, but Swoop not know where is he."

Another typical happenstance... Wheeljack could make himself amazingly sparse when he wanted to avoid another lecture. Ratchet didn't know whether to be angry or cry. The past few weeks, him and the engineer had been doing nothing but running around, constantly getting on the other's nerves. If things didn't change... well, the medic was good and ready to leave that useless prince's aft out in the cold. He had been well enough on his own before meeting Wheeljack; he would do alright again afterwards too.

"Go play, Swoop," Ratchet told his son dismissively, his helm darkened with heavy thoughts. "Mommy's going to go for a walk." Turning around, the princess left the clinic again, heading into the woods and away from the mess that his life seemed to be at the moment.

XXXXXXX

"Hey, Ratchet, look at what I ma-" Wheeljack trailed off, his optics shuttering in surprise at the mess before his optics. He saw Swoop in the middle of the room, attempting to sweep everything into one pile. The dinobot seemed to be having a little difficulty though... "Umm, Swoop, what happened here?"

"Swoop and brothers playing," Swoop readily supplied.

Oh, _slag_. Wheeljack looked around the room, servo rising to his blast mask the more he saw the damage done. Ratchet was going to have his spike on a silver platter! He knew his mate treasured his clinic a lot and had told him time and time again to make sure that their sons didn't roll into the room during one of their play sessions, but he'd been really busy this time, making this awesome invention he was sure Ratchet would love. And it didn't explode either! But he wouldn't even be able to show the princess it before he flipped out at the destroyed state of his clinic.

"Uh, 'ight, so this mess needs t' be cleaned up 'fore Ratch gets back..."

"Momma bot come home Swoop say," the dinobot interrupted. "Momma bot get mad and go again. Swoop clean mess to make momma bot happy."

"Oh... _frag_...," Wheeljack mumbled, face dropping into his waiting servo. Ratchet had already come home... and had evidently stormed off again. No doubt the medic was furious with him. He tried, he really did, but sometimes he got so caught-up with his inventions that he didn't notice when the dinobots were rampaging in the clinic again. And apologies weren't going to work either with the princess. Ratchet had been so testy lately, that a simple mention of "I'm sorry" sent the medic into a rage, in turn, turning their one-mech argument into a giant screaming match. The prince really hated when those situations occurred. He loved Ratchet dearly and didn't want to do anything to upset his mate.

"Alright, Swoop?," he started, turning to his youngest son. The pterodactyl turned at his creator's call, looking at him curiously. "Listen," Wheeljack continued, sighing softly. "I'm going to go look for mommy. Stay here and look after your brothers okay? Don't play too roughly while we're gone, okay?"

"Swoop say will do!," the dinobot chirped back obediently. Anxious about leaving his babies all alone still, the engineer headed out of the clinic, choosing a random direction and heading off, beginning his search for Ratchet.

XXXXXXX

It was pure chance that Hook had run into Ratchet. The white medic was miffed, grumbling and stomping up a storm. Though neither would admit it, there had even been tears in the princess' optics when the Decepticon had decided to approach the Autobot. Snapping angrily, Ratchet had demanded to know what the green mech was doing sneaking around the bushes, and Hook had replied with a cover story about heading into the next village over for new medical supplies. In truth, he had been seeking the princess out, intent on injecting him with the new toxin he had been working on just for him. Ever since he had heard Ratchet's name, Hook had been jealous: of the other's title, his luck and good looks, but mostly for his skills and fame. The Decepticon felt that his own talents were greater than those of Snow White's, but everybody was only concerned about the white medic, barely giving his counterpart the time of day.

But if Ratchet was out of the picture, then Hook could finally get the recognition he deserved!

"And he doesn't care a bit about me! I mean, I only ask of him to do one thing, one thing!," the white 'bot was grumbling. "Keep the dinobots out of my clinic. But can he do that? No!"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hook said sympathetically, scooting closer to Ratchet. He slid an arm behind the other medic,lightly resting his servo on the Autobot's hip. If he wanted to make sure that the venom was injected properly, he would have to initiate close contact. So far, things seemed to be working. Either Ratchet really was so mad with Wheeljack that he didn't notice the Decepticon making "moves" on him, or otherwise, he was desperately needing a friendly audio and a warm hug.

"And I-," Ratchet's vocalizer clicked off as he turned his helm, suddenly realizing how close he and Hook had gotten. Cheekplates flushing slightly, the white medic attempted to put some space between them again. "Listen, I... I may be angry at Wheeljack but I'm not some kind of floozy either. He's my mate, and I won't betray his trust by fragging some random mech in the woods."

"But weren't you just saying that he tramples on your own trust every time he neglects a request from you?," Hook retorted, pushing closer to Ratchet. He tightened his arm about the Autobot's waist, effectively pinning the princess close. "I'm not suggesting anything long term...," the green medic persuaded softly, leaning in. "But perhaps you and me could come to a small arrangement?"

Ratchet's brow furrowed, confusion and indecisiveness reflected clearly in his ice blue optics. "W-what are you...?"

"Nothing too complex," the Decepticon assured, cutting in. He slowly reached into subspace, wrapping his free servo around his poison. "Just a trade of sorts. I make you forget about all your little problems, and in turn, I am finally rid of you!"

The white mech's optics flared at the hissed threat. "Y-you-!"

"'Ey!,"shouted a voice. "What 're ya doing wit' meh mate!"

"Slag!," Hook hissed, helm whipping around to see Ratchet's crazy prince Wheeljack stepping into the clearing. Quickly, the green medic turned, jabbing his syringe between the Autobot's neck cables; the needle piercing one of the cords, injecting its corrosive toxins directly into Ratchet's fuel lines. Stiffening at the unexpected assault, the white mech was unable to stop his fall as he was dropped by Hook, the other 'bot taking off into the woods. Wheeljack was tempted to chase after the fleeing Decepticon, but one look at that shaking servo weakly reaching for him, and the engineer temporarily forgot about his jealousy.

"R-ratchet!," he choked, falling to his knees beside the medic. "O-oh, Primus... R-ratch, y-yeh're turnin' cold!" And indeed he was. The poison was working fast, shutting down each of Ratchet's systems as its spread its clawing grasp further within the mech. "P-pehlease, R-ratch... d-don't leave meh..."

The white Autobot couldn't even speak. Coolant pooled in his optics, trickling down his cheeks as even his vision began to blur, the pixels being attacked next by the toxin. "I'm sorry," he wanted to say to Wheeljack, "I'm sorry for every mean thing I said! I'm sorry that I'm always so mad at you. I know that's why you don't love me as much anymore, why you're always so busy with your projects. I've been a terrible lover and parent... I wish I could have changed that before it was too late." His spark whirled achingly within him, strangled within the cloud of poison slowly pouring inside of it.

"Oh, Ratch...," the prince was choking still, his own tears falling past his optics and down his blast mask. "A-ah sh-should of done what yeh asked o' meh. M-maybeh if Ah'd been m-more attentive, yeh w-wouldn't go stomping off s-so much. T-then yeh wouldn't ha-have been angreh wit' meh so much, a-and let that s-sneaky m-mech g-get past yer guard. S-sticking that p-poison in yeh, t-there's no way Ah c-could get it out i-in ti- Wait!"

Wheeljack wiped at his optics, frantically digging into his subspace. "Ratchet!," he cried, voice growing more excited by the astrosecond. "Ratchet, do yeh know what this is!," he exclaimed, holding the unknown device towards the medic. "I-it's meh toxin-extractor! Ah jus' finished building it this very orn; Ah rushed down t' show yeh, but yeh'd already gone!"

Quickly, the prince unwound cords from the sphere, plugging them into Ratchet's neck, right about the area where the poison was first injected. Fiddling with dials on the metal's surface, the machine eventually whirred to life, flashing various colours as it set to the task it was made for. In the meantime, Wheeljack grabbed one of the medic's servos, cradling it comfortably. "It's all gonna be al'ight, Ratch," assured. "Trust meh."

"I-i...I do," Ratchet croaked, the machine's suction allowing him to gain some control over his vocalizer again. Tears fell from his optics harder, a pained smile appearing on his face as he looked up at his mate. "'J-jack... I do... trust you... s-so much, l-love..."

"S-sorry...," he coughed, squeezing the servo back.

"Y-yeh have nutthing t' b-be sorry about Ratchet," Wheeljack protested. But he did, Ratchet knew, and he promised himself he would make it up to the crazy prince as soon as he was better. He'd clean up the clinic, fix dinner and passionately make love to his wonderful mate. And after that was all done, he was putting triple steel beams on the clinic doors, making sure that it had the security and fortifications strong enough to keep his darling sons out for their own good.

* * *

**Little Red Riding Hood**

* * *

 

Red Alert was sure someone was following him.

Okay, scratch sure. He was one hundred percent certain that THOSE WERE OPTICS IN THE BUSHES WATCHING HIM THIS VERY INSTANT! Quailing in fright, the mech scrambled for the paper bag in his basket, wrenching it out and up and over his sparking horns and hood. He fell to the floor in an undignified heap, scrambling into a sitting position and rocking in place quickly. He could hear the bushes shake a little outside of his safe paper bag, but the princess attempted to ignore it, telling himself over and over again "There's nothing there. There's nothing there. There's nothing there."

He almost jumped out of his shell when something cold prodded his back.

XXXXXXX

Inferno had been following the little mech for quite some time now. He had happened by the Autobot wandering through the woods one sunny orn, cringing at every bird call and squirrel scamper that came within hearing range. At first, the cyberwolf hadn't thought much of the princess. But then the sun fell in a sharp beam upon that hapless beauty, highlighting his gorgeous white plating and his large, captivating pale blue optics...well, Inferno had been hypnotized right then and there! He didn't even mind that the other mech seemed ever so frightened of the world around him; the big Autobot vowed that he would do anything to protect this stranger and see a smile come to his usually timid faceplates.

Three weeks he had been stalk- ahem, guarding, his precious princess and he still had yet to even learn the other's name! Oh, the cyberwolf wanted to whine at the unfairness of it all. But, he told himself, if never knowing a thing about the red and white Autobot was what it took for him to make him happy, then Inferno would gladly suffer it all.

And he was quite content to do so, but that was before he saw his lovely Angel spiral into a terrible panic and yank a paper bag over his helm. Inferno, after studying Red Alert all this time, had seen this very scenario play out on multiple occasions. He also knew that within a couple cycles, the princess would have calmed down enough that he could safely return home again. But today was a bad day for Red Alert to have one of his fits -nasty insecticons had taken up residence in the forest lately and they had started the morning with a heavy craving. They were known to sometimes tackle and devour hapless travelers as well, depending on how hungry they were.

The cyberwolf had noted such a trio of insecticons not but a mile down wind; if they weren't careful, those Decepticons just might come their way. Inferno didn't want to see his beautiful stranger eaten by bugs! That's why he had weighed his options, deciding that having his chance to ever be more to Red Alert than a friendly stalker was not worth running the risk of the smaller mech's safety. Coming out of hiding, Inferno approached the rocking Autobot, gently poking him with one finger.

"U-uh, 'xcuse meh," he mumbled shyly. "A-aye'd 'ate ta interrupt but Aye jus' wanted ta say now was not a good time ta be hidin' yer face. T-there's some nasty Decetibugs d-downwind; don't want ta be runnin' inta 'em anytime soon."

The princess merely stiffened, shaking like a leaf caught in a storm; the glow from his sparking horns visible through the bag and clothe.

Inferno, unwisely, tried again. "U-umm, p-princess?"

"How do you know who I am?!," Red Alert shrieked, tearing the bag off his helm. He fell backwards in fright, floundering on the ground before the cyberwolf. "G-go away! Help, help! I'm going to be eaten by a giant monster! Help, please!"

"N-no!," the bigger mech tried to protest. "A-aye'm not-"

He never got the chance to finish, because suddenly Red Alert was up on his pedes, grabbing the nearest object -a branch- and smacking Inferno with it wildly. The cyberwolf at first growled at the assault but he realized that was a bad thing to do after the smaller mech increased his efforts; instead, falling silent, clenching his paws in his lap, allowing each of the random blows to ring across his plating. Slowly, Red Alert began to take notice that his supposed attacker was no longer attacking, and though his mind screamed at him not to relent and hightail it out of there, the princess actually slowed his hitting. He dropped the branch entirely after a klik, looking at the battered cyberwolf ashamedly.

"I-i-i...," he stammered, unable to get the words out.

"I-it's alright," Inferno tried to smile. "Jus' a-"

The rapid buzzing of Insecticon wings cut off the red mech. Quickly and without warning, Inferno lunged at Red Alert, tackling the other Autobot to the ground. He covered the princess' tiny frame with his own, slapping a paw over the red and white 'bot's mouth. "Ssh!," Inferno hissed. "They'll 'ear ya!"

Cautiously, the cyberwolf looked over a shoulder plating, watching as the Decepticons flew by, their helms turning slowly, looking for prey to munch on this orn. Spotting no one, the Insecticons were quick to move on again; their systems buzzing in disappointment the entire way. Double-checking that they were gone for good, Inferno slowly lifted himself off of Red Alert, still looking all around them.

"Good, 'ey seem ta be gone now. Shall Aye escort ya ho-" The red mech turned around, vocalizer clicking shut at the sight he saw beneath him. The princess, with his servos clasped at his chestplates and his hood billowed out under him, was looking up at the cyberwolf with dimmed optics. They were glazed with a fine sheen of coolant, and his cheekplates were painted a lovely shade of cerise. Inferno's tail perked when he realized that he was currently straddling Red Alert as well, those lovely white thighs trembling softly against his waist.

The bigger Autobot hurried to distance himself from the paranoid mech. "A-aye'm v-very so-sorry," he stammered, "L-let m-meh g-git yeh 'o-ome 'fore y-ya run inta a-anymore t-trouble."

"O-okay...," Red Alert mumbled. He timidly reached for the servo held out for him, allowing himself to be picked up of the ground. "T-thank you," he blushed, quickly turning away and gathering his things. The red satin of that hood pulled forward as the princess bent over, displaying the pristine steel-grey aft to the shell-shocked cyberwolf. Inferno just couldn't tear his gaze away! Especially not when he could smell the faintest traces of lubricant behind those delicate protective panelling.

"Aiiiiieeee!"

Red Alert whirled around, falling onto his aft. His own bright optics met with the wide, surprised ones of the princess. "W-wh-what...?!" The red and white mech stuttered, choking back the questions he just couldn't bring himself to ask. He had been dead certain that he had felt the other Autobot sniffing at his aft, but there was no way he was asking for confirmation!

"U-uh... s-sorry," Inferno mumbled, quickly backing away. He had his ears pressed against his helm and his tail tucked between his legs contritely.

"I-it's alright... J-just, I, umm, I-i think I should be going home n-now," Red Alert mumbled, picking himself off the forest floor for a second time that orn. He anxiously turned, padding a few steps towards his home. Inferno could only watch him go, sadly, cursing himself silently all the while for his mistakes. He almost missed it when the princess slowed to a stop, turning and looking back to the cyberwolf.

"W-would...," he paused, glancing off to the side, before returning his gaze to the cyberwolf. "W-would you still c-care to walk m-me home?"

"Y-yes!," Inferno cried out, before he could stop himself. He flushed in embarrassment, chuckling quickly to try and regain his composure. It was in that moment that he was granted his very first glimpse of one of those small, beautiful smiles he'd come to see every orn from then on.

"O-okay...," his lovely princess said, holding a shy servo out for the cyberwolf to take. The red Autobot was quick to close the distance between them, grasping the smaller servo within one of his very own paws. "M-my name, i-it's Red Alert by the way."

"Red...," Inferno purred, rolling the name across his glossa in bliss. "Ya can call meh Inferno."

A larger smile graced Red Alert's lip components, his optics glittering merrily.

* * *

**Rapunzel**

* * *

 

"Oh, princess, I wish you'd speak to me," the voice cried out from below. "I only hope-"

"Oh hush!," Mirage scowled, leaning out precariously from his window. He glared down at the mech standing at the very bottom of his tower, a bushel of wild flowers in his servos. At his presence, a smile showed itself on the stranger's face; his optics glittering like two sapphires.

"Princess, you look as lovely as ever! The sun and stars themselves would be ashamed to hold their light against your frame, for they would surely fall short of your own radiance."

"You can barely even see my frame from your tiny patch of dirt down there," the princess snorted disdainfully. "How do you know I'm even beautiful to begin with?"

The green Autobot blushed, but his smile did not lessen. "Would goddesses be anything but beautiful? Besides, your voice is proof enough. A melodious tone that even the fair birds are envious of," the stranger praised. "I could listen to it for the rest of eternity."

Mirage couldn't help but blush, even though he was unimpressed by the other's flattery. "Good day," he quipped callously, turning on his heel and retreating into his room. He could hear the unknown mech down below politely requesting that he not leave yet, but the princess had enough. He didn't want to stand at his sill all orn and listen to prattles of some love-sick fool, especially when they had never properly met before!

...and he never would...

The Noble crossed his arms over his chestplates, turning and glaring at the stone walls circling him. Nothing but stone walls... there was a door, yes, but it only led to a small kitchen beneath his pedes and a tinier washrack so that the mech might feed and clean himself. Other than the window in his berthroom, he had no other entry point to the outside world and certainly no means of escaping his prison. He was trapped here for the rest of his function, just like he'd been since he was but a small sparkling.

He did not need to be taunted by those on the outside as well...

His would-be admirer was still calling for his return. Mirage headed straight for his berth, grabbing a pillow and clapping it around his audios.

XXXXXXX

Hound felt his smile finally fade away as the kliks dragged on, and his beautiful angel still did not return. The flowers he held dropped from his servos slowly, and he sighed softly. He had been trying to court the nameless mech for a whole decacycle now, but still, the other refused to even give him the time of orn or tell him his name. It hurt, to say the least, because the Autobot didn't think he'd ever be able to move past the princess. He'd been hypnotized from the first time he heard him speaking, quoting love sonnets to the cloudless sky above with the most forlorn look Hound ever did see on his faceplates.

It was an expression no one ever should bear and the hunter wished nothing but to erase that pain from the princess' spark.

How lonely it must be, he thought, to be stuck up in a dreary tower with only a little window to look down upon the world with. That's why Hound had vowed to find a way to free his lovely swan from his stone cage... if for the other's happiness and nothing else. Perhaps the chance would still be there, for him to learn about that strange beauty, but the hunter tried not to hope too much. It would only cause his spark more pain if he did. Turning, the Autobot marched back into the surrounding forest, his thoughts still fixed on the mech trapped up in the tower.

XXXXXXX

"Please, you must know of a way to free him," Hound begged of the fairy, sticking close to the other's heels.

Fireflight twirled in place, his optics glued to the sky above and his wings fluttering impatiently behind him. It was obvious that he wanted to shoot off into the puffy clouds, to dip and swirl, trailing his fingers through them as he soared with the birds. "What place?," he questioned dreamily.

Hound tried not to frown, knowing the frivolous nature of the fey, especially this one in particular. "The sad mech who lives in the tower, in the forgotten woods. Is there not a way to free him from his sad prison?"

"Ah...," the little mech sighed in recognition. He turned to face the hunter, his expression one of blissful serenity. "You speak of the Noble Mirage, the one whom was born into his tower through a foul occurrence of vanity and pride. He is never to leave it and the force field surrounding it would keep all manners of ladder and pulley away. There is no escape to be had with such a dark magic cast."

"Mirage...," Hound mumbled dazedly, giddy from the unexpected revelation. "Such a worthy name for one so beautiful and distant." He grew serious quickly though, trying to capture the fairy's rapidly fading attentions again. "But what about magic? Surely, magic can undo magic, allowing fairest Mirage the chance for freedom!"

Fireflight bounced into the air, hovering a few feet above the ground. His optics were again glancing to the skies wantonly, but he refrained from taking off at once. "Yes," he agreed, "Magic does have the strength to undo other magics, but the strength varies for each. The spell cast on the princess and his domain are a dark and ancient one; not likely to be broken by mere conjurers."

The fairy was beginning to lift higher now. "Wait! Please, I beg of you," the green mech pleaded, "If only another strong spell will break the curse, then can you not perform it yourself? I will give anything that I have if necessary but please, if you have any charity in your spark, attempt to break the spell so that Mirage can choose for himself whether to live out in the world or in that lonely tower!"

The small Autobot turned, looking at the hunter who was down on his knees, his servos clasped tightly in begging fashion as he gazed up at the tiny fairy with desperation in his honest optics. Fireflight could not help the smile that rose at the sight. "Do not fret," he said. "My processor is as flighty as my born nature, but I am not callous to your selfless wish. I shall discuss this with my brothers -perhaps, we may just be able to break the spell yet."

Drifting towards Hound, he helped the mech up, patting his helm as if he were a tender pet. "Take care, strong hunter, we shall meet again. And with hope, a means to free the princess." Fireflight pulled away. "Until then...," he called in farewell, shooting off into the clouds above.

Hound could only watch him disappear, his spark a little more confident now that he had spoken with the fairy.

XXXXXXX

"Why in all the realms do you persist on hounding me?!," Mirage hissed, leaning out of his window again.

The stranger far below smiled up at him warmly, no gifts in his servos this time. "Because I believe that no one, whether beauty or hag, should be left alone in a terrible, forsaken place like this. I could only hope though that you might find my company, irritating as it may be, some relief in the dreariness you know."

Mirage, again, blushed.

"And, despite never having yet met you, I find myself in love with you, fair Mirage," the green mech continued. "A love that would be satisfied with you being happy, however that is made possible."

"Y-you... stop speaking such nonsense!," the Noble croaked, turning away from the other Autobot. "Love me?! You don't even know me!"

"It is a chance I'd be willing to give my very spark for...," came the far-away reply.

Mirage hugged himself at the words, feeling a cold chill overtake him. Many mechs and femmes had come wandering by in the past, perchance finding the princess' forgotten tower. Each and every one of them had spouted proclamations of love, vowing that they would find a way to "rescue" the Noble. Only a few bothered to return once or twice before giving up entirely; none had even mentioned wanting to learn about exactly who it was they were supposedly madly enamoured with. This hunter was the first to ever come back after the third time, and that in itself had been shocking to the white mech. But now the stranger had to say this...?

"Mirage...," the Autobot called softly. "Please, don't run away. Not yet, at least. I came because I had good news."

Against his better judgement, the princess turned, complying with the other's desperate request. "What," he asked heavily, "Do you want now? And how do you know my name?"

The green mech's smile grew an inch it seemed. "The good fairy that I talked to told me. Mirage, I've asked them if they might help from the bottom of their sparks, to cast a counter-spell upon the curse keeping you trapped here," the hunter explained. "I know, it seems a selfish act, but the thought of you being free to choose for yourself the life you want makes me happier than the chance to simply court you in proper fashion. I'd be willing to sacrifice everything to see just the faintest trace of happiness within your spark."

"Y-you..." Mirage couldn't find the words to speak with. "Go away!," he shouted, rushing back into his tower and out of range of the window. He could hear the other Autobot's pleas echo up to his lonely room and it dug at his spark, but not nearly as much as the bitter pulse of hope he felt. Would it... could it possibly be, that he might someday soon honestly be _free_?

"I'll be back tomorrow, please believe me!," the stranger was still shouting. "I'll come back as often as necessary, until the orn you are free. But when that time comes, you must understand that you need to trust in me. I am your friend, your ally; I do not want to see you hurt 'Raj. Beautiful swans are meant to soar... yet, they must first be willing to leap."

Silence followed the valiant statement.

Rising to his pedes slowly, Mirage padded quietly to his window. But peeking down, he saw that his admirer had already left. The veil of loneliness descended, weighing heavily on the Noble's shoulder plates.

XXXXXXX

He couldn't believe it... that idiot of a mech had actually returned.

Mirage watched as the storm clouds gathered heavily in the sky, turning the bright orn to an early night, lightning crackling and high winds beginning to howl viciously through the trees. Yet, that foolish Autobot was standing there down below, with a gaggle of fairies; all of whom were that moment whispering arcane words under their breaths and zipping about the base of the princess' tower. The very atmosphere was lit with the strength of their spell-casting, causing Mirage to shiver anxiously as the weather took a darker turn for the worse.

That was nothing though to the turmoil within his processor and spark. He'd always been so rational, not allowing himself to fall into love, knowing that he would never be free to pursue anything. His bare communications with the other princesses of the land were poor means of company, but they had kept him sane so far, when all else threatened to destroy him with the very sadness of his situation. His supposed friends though had never gone to such lengths before...

Rain fell from the sky in bucketfuls, coming down as a sudden crack of thunder rang across the entire forest. Shocked by the frightening sound, Mirage leaned further out of his window, trying to glimpse his would-be rescuer. It was hard to see though, with all the rain and wind, the darkness not helping much either.

"Sir!," he shouted over the gale. "Sir -this storm! It's too dangerous! You must seek shelter!"

"Oh, Rapunzel," the green mech laughed. "It's just some rain and wind! And please, call me Hound. I refuse to leave because of a little wet and cold, not when we are so close to freeing you finally!"

"You fool...," Mirage whispered to himself, feeling his spark pulse at the care-free words. Primus, why did this mech have to be so pure-sparked? It was making it harder and harder for the Noble to remain rational... unattached...

"...it would certainly be no good for me to fall in love with someone like you..."

The tower suddenly pitched, the very floor tilting under the white mech as his home began to creak and groan. Mirage cried out in alarm, grasping the windowsill tightly as the only home he had ever known started swaying from side to side, still bellowing like a wounded beast. "What is happening?!," he screamed, lifting his helm over the lip of the window, optics wide as he stared at the rocking ground below.

 _Oh_ , _Primus_... such a height to fall from!

"Mirage!," Hound shouted back in alarm. The hunter was dancing about anxiously, the faeries hovering uncertainly a safe distance from the tower now. "Mirage! The curse -the tower, it'll fall! Without the curse in place, it can not stand upright any longer! You must jump; it's the only way to avoid being crushed to death. I will catch you, but you must trust me!"

"J-jump! Are you mad!?"

"Please! Trust me!"

The tower rolled forward, threatening to dump Mirage onto the ground right then and there. Only the firm grasp he had on the sill kept him from being tossed out. But when the stone building began to tip backwards, something cracking deep within his home, the princess realized that he had no choice but to do as the other mech suggested. Frantically, Mirage clambered until he was squatting in the frame of his window, looking down upon the wet, wild world that was almost spinning far beneath his pedes. Rain water filled his optics, blurring his vision, almost blotting out Hound's presence entirely. It was only thanks to his dark green paintjob standing out amongst all the mud, that Mirage was even able to see him at all.

"Mirage!," he could hear the other calling to him again. "Trust me!"

Cycling a deep intake, the white mech jumped.

Hound ran for the plummeting Autobot, arms outstretched to catch him. He felt the faeries shoot past, using their magic to slow down Mirage's descent, but the speed at which he still fell caused him to smack into the hunter's chest none too gently, knocking them both to ground unceremoniously. Mud squished beneath their frames, coating them thickly, while rain water continued to dump upon them. Groaning, the green mech slowly began to sit up.

"'R-raj...," he hissed, rubbing the back of his helm. He must have hit a rock on the way down. "A-are you okay?"

The Noble pushed himself out of the mud, turning and flinging himself at the hunter. It took Hound almost three whole astroseconds to realize that he was being kissed passionately by the slimmer mech, delicate servos cupping the back of his helm so as to increase the pressure of their lip lock. Shocked, he quickly put his servos on Mirage's shoulder plating, pushing the other mech back.

"W-what-"

"What do you mean, 'What?'," those luscious lip components pouted, golden optics flickering in mild annoyance. Oh, primus... _Golden optics_. Hound didn't think he'd ever seen a more gorgeous sight than those two orbs right there. "I'm kissing you, you fool!"

"B-but...why?," the green 'bot stuttered. "I mean, I-i just don't want you to feel obligated to me because I freed you! I'm not expecting anything in return, honest! I just wanted you to be happy."

The princess' expression changed from one of irritation to coyness. "Well, expect it," he husked, gently moving Hound's servos, so that now they rested nervously on his hip plating. "I'm cold and wet, and covered in filth... but I'm free. Freedom -something many have promised me, but you were the only one to give me it. Yet, without you, it'll seem like a bitter victory in the end."

Hound spluttered, cheekplates stained pink as his lovely Mirage pressed closer, laying his helm on the hunter's chestplates as he embraced the bigger mech. "I think...I'd like to get to know you a little as well, Hound."

"Y-yes...," the green Autobot replied softly. It felt like his spark was going to implode at any moment! "I... I would like that." His precious princess laughed lightly, straightening up and kissing him again -this time, softer and more sweetly. Purring slightly, Hound returned the affection, pulling Mirage all that more closer.

Behind them, the faeries watched, with various expressions of amusement and shock. "I think..." Fireflight whispered to his brothers, "...we should leave them alone." The other fey nodded their helms, silently taking off into the skies at their youngest sibling's lead, leaving the new lovers to themselves.

* * *

**Cinderella**

* * *

 

"First Aid!"

The young mech turned at the cry, his arms burdened with a large basket of fruit. He watched as his brother, Blades, ran into the kitchen, huffing and puffing wildly. "Aid!," he cried, looking about the room. "Where's my swords? I've got to prove to that crooked Vortex that I'm the better fighter!"

"Oh...," First Aid gasped, "Brother, must you really fight him? Could you not get along with sir Vortex?"

"No way!," the knight protested. "That stupid, insane, twisted excuse for a mech is- First Aid, are you doing work, again!?"

The bigger mech finally noticed that his youngest sibling was once more doing chores; their large stove covered in pots and pans, all of them emitting various steam and scents. Frowning, Blades abandoned his search for weapons, grabbing the basket in First Aid's arms and carrying it for the medic over to the pantry. "Honestly," he grumbled, "We have others to do the work, Aid. You don't need to spend all orn bent over like a slave."

"But I enjoy doing it," First Aid protested softly. "It is no trouble to me."

"And what if you got hurt in the process? Hotspot would blow a fuse!"

The princess smiled at his brother's show of concern, heading for the stove. "I am a medic, brother. I know when to be cautious and not to over exert myself as well."

"That doesn't matter!," Blades said, stomping over to First Aid once he had finished with the basket. "You could-," he was cut off by the spoon being thrust in his face, warm broth steaming in the ladle. At the adorable optics looking up at him, the knight sighed softly, lifting First Aid's servo higher and sipping at the spoon. "It's good," he replied, licking his lip components.

"I'm glad you like it," the white mech smiled.

"Oh, there they are!," the older Autobot exclaimed suddenly, spotting his swords resting in a corner of the kitchen. He hurried forward to go and grab them. "I've got to run now- Vortex will no doubt call me a coward and a scoundrel if I don't show up in the next five kliks, and I'll be damned before I let that no-good Decepticon disgrace my name! But you better not work hard while I'm gone Aid, or I swear I'll spurn all of your cooking!"

"Very well," First Aid giggled, waving his brother off. "Please be safe Blades! Don't kill the mech!" When the knight was out of sight, he turned back to his stove, already going through the list of things he still had to do before the orn was up.

XXXXXXX

"Howdy!"

Swindle leaned against the fence, watching as the princess turned at his call, visor flashing merrily as he approached the merchant. "Good day, sir," First Aid greeted, a smile in his tone. "How are you this orn?"

"Well, business is moving, so I can't complain," the Decepticon shrugged. "You know, I've told you before, you don't have to call me 'sir'. You've been my best customer so far -I think it's only right that we address each other by our first names."

He could just see the cheekarches peeking out behind the mouth guard turn the palest shade of pink. "So, how about it?," Swindle pushed a little more. "You can call me Swindle, and I'll call you...?"

"F-first Aid," the medic answered softly.

"Nice name," the tan mech grinned. It fell silent between them for a moment, the two 'bots staring at each other, neither one bothering to speak. Eventually though, wanting to try and cajole the other closer, Swindle broke the quiet. "I've got some lovely wares if you'd like to take a look. New this week- a fresh shipment of peaches! They're quite good, if I dare say."

"Peaches...?" First Aid slowly shuffled closer, setting down his basket of wet laundry. "I don't think I've ever seen one."

Swindle shuttered his optics in surprise. "Never? Well, let me be the first to show you! Come, come," he urged, holding his arm out for the Autobot. "You won't be able to see properly if you hide behind a fence. The peaches are only just here on my cart."

"O-oh, no, t-that's quite a-alright, sir," the princess stuttered, "I-i-i can see j-just fine h-here."

"Swindle, First Aid," the Decepticon corrected sweetly. "Please, use my name."

"O-okay... S-swindle."

The merchant nodded satisfactorily, turning and rummaging through the bags on his cart. After a klik, he turned back to the waiting medic, holding in his servos a round, pink sphere. "This is a peach," he said, moving closer so that First Aid could see better. "They're gaining a lot of popularity right now for their sweetness and their delicate coloration. They're especially a favourite among the rich, as they are the only ones to really be able to afford these beauties. You see, peaches do not grow in these lands, and henceforth, have to be shipped in from another country. It has to be a quick trip though, or else the fruit will spoil before it gets here. Speed and exoticness make this tiny purchase worth a fair amount of coin."

"Wow...," First Aid breathed softly, leaning in closer to examine the fruit. He was indeed drawn in by the lovely shape and size of the peach, olfactory sensors detecting the faintest of scents wafting from the ripe fruit. Like flower blossoms in the spring. But at the Decepticon's mention of cost, the princess felt a small twinge of regret. He did not have that much coin on him at that moment, and it didn't seem likely that his brothers would give him more for even a meager basket of the peaches... his guilt at the thought of spending so much also forced the white mech into hesitation.

"They are quite beautiful," the medic agreed with a touch of sadness, pulling back.

"Here," Swindle said suddenly, pushing the peach into First Aid's servos.

"B-but... let me pay you!" The Autobot hurried to reach for his coin purse in subspace.

The merchant waved him off though. "Don't worry about it, Aid," he grinned. "Consider it on the house. Besides, I've got to get the rest of these to the customer before nightfall. I'll see you next week." Swindle clambered up onto the driver's seat, grabbing the reins and flicking them slightly for the sharkticon to start moving. The heavy beast grunted, the cart beginning to roll forward slowly.

"O-oh, thank you!," First Aid said.

"No problem!," Swindle called back. "Hey, are you going to the ball at the palace tomorrow night? I heard it's going to be a smash- you should totally be there!"

"I... I don't know...," the princess replied. He had never thought about going to a ball, nor had he heard about one being held this month. Not as if his brothers would allow him to go. They insisted that such events were not appropriate places for medics or princesses. First Aid was a little sad to say that he normally agreed with them.

It didn't seem as if the tan mech had heard him though. "Well, I hope to see you there! Goodbye, First Aid." Swindle waved one last time, before he disappeared over the mound, leaving the little medic all by himself, clutching his tender gift.

XXXXXXX

"You're looking positively depressed. It's quite funny."

"What do you want Vortex?," Swindle huffed, barely glancing at the knight. The ruthless fighter giggled back, visor catching the light, making it look as if he was glaring. The two different expressions were clashing.

"Oh, I just wanted to say hello to my _dearest_ brother," Vortex answered, his servo spider-crawling up the merchant's back, before pinching at the other's cheekplate. The grey mech cackled at the glare it drew from the smaller Decepticon; patting Swindle's helm in mock consolation.

"Are you looking for your lil' crush? You know, I heard he never gets out of the house, except to meet the other princesses. I'm afraid his brothers keep him locked up tight."

Swindle was shocked to say the least. "How did you know about First Aid?," he asked warily, debating whether he should run or stay here with his sibling still. He didn't think the ballroom full of all of its party-goers would help him any if Vortex was in a "playful" mood. "And what do you mean brothers?"

Vortex honestly looked stunned. "Seriously...," he deadpanned, in a serious tone that was not heard often when it was regarding the insane mech. "You spent all that time spying on the little Autobot, and you didn't even know that he had brothers? I mean, we're not just talking about some shmucks here. The princess is sibling of our _lovely_ Hotspot and Blades, and those...uh... other two."

"Streetwise and Groove, you mean?," Swindle retorted. He was almost tempted to snort at Vortex's own ignorance. Trust his crazy-aft brother to only remember the people he found entertaining. But the moment passed, and the merchant was truly depressed. "So he's not coming then..."

"Hmm, oh, no," the knight sing-songed. "But!," he giggled again, wrapping an arm about his brother's shoulder plating. "I do in fact know that our innocent princess is at home this very moment, all alone. After all, his brothers have to be at the palace tonight, as part of their duties."

"So, you're saying..." Everything clicked in the tan mech's processor. He couldn't help the foolish grin that split his faceplates, his spark pulsing eagerly at the idea of meeting with the medic, without the fear of interruptions. Yet, common sense was quick to make itself known again. "No... that would be stupid. There's no way that Blades and the others are going to leave First Aid alone all night long. They're sure to leave here soon."

"Not if they're distracted," Vortex whispered gleefully.

Swindle narrowed his optics, glaring at his brother behind his visor. "What do you want?," he asked again, knowing right away that the other Decepticon was making a proposition, not an offer.

"Well...," the knight drawled, "You see, it's unfair that you've stolen the sweet princess' attentions before I could, so I think some compensation is in order. I did spot the cutest little fairy in the woods the other day... Capture him for me, and I'll make sure that nothing distracts you tonight while you're away, wooing the naive Autobot."

It was a risky deal. Never mind the fact that Vortex seemed to have found interest in yet another person, the fact that it was a fey he suddenly wanted would pose some problems. Faeries were notorious for being sneaky and powerful little blighters... "Very well," Swindle eventually agreed, shrugging off his brother's arm. "Keep the family busy, and I'll get you your fairy."

"Good boy," Vortex complimented sarcastically. The grey mech straightened up, cracking his fingers in preparation. "Now to go find my dearest Blades."

The merchant wisely decided not to comment, slipping away from the party unseen and hurrying through the gardens to the carriages waiting in the stables.

XXXXXXX

First Aid sat outside of the kitchen, cradling the pit of the peach Swindle had kindly given him yesterday. He had cut it up earlier that orn, splitting it evenly between him and his brothers. He'd waited until they were eating the small desert he had made using the fruit, before asking them if he might join them that evening at the palace. He had almost pleaded, saying that he had never been to a ball and that he really wanted to experience at least one. He'd even used the counter-argument that nothing bad could happen if he stayed within supervision of his brothers all night.

But Hotspot had merely shook his helm, fixing the youngest Autobot with a regretful gaze. "I'm sorry, Aid," he had apologized. "But the palace is not a good place for you to be -us there or not. It is more likely that in such a large crowd, you might be snatched away by the more ruthless of guests and hurt before myself or any of the others can find you. It is better not to risk such a precious thing as your safety."

First Aid hadn't protested such loving concern. He knew his big brother only ever looked out for him, but it was disappointing all the same. With a bowed helm, he had mumbled his agreement to the terms, before retreating to the kitchen. The rest of the orn the princess worked in silent sorrow, his thoughts fixed on the kind merchant.

He really wished he could have gone, if only to meet Swindle again and thank him properly for the generous gift.

"You know... you're supposed to plant that, not stare at it sadly."

The medic whipped his helm up, squeaking in alarm when he saw Swindle leaning against the fence, that cheery grin on his lip components. "S-sir -I-i mean, Swindle!," First Aid exclaimed in surprise. "Y-you're here?!"

"Well, yeah," the Decepticon shrugged. "I thought I'd stop by and visit, since you weren't at the ball."

"B-but, but...," the medic stammered, at a lost for words. His spark was torn between joy and guilt. "T-the party! Surely, you must be missing out on the festivities coming here!"

Swindle shrugged again, pushing himself back a bit, before he hopped the fence. He rolled his shoulder joints, swaggering easily towards the Autobot. "It was becoming a boring affair. So...," he drawled, coming right up to First Aid's side. "Why the sad face?"

The princess canted his helm to the side slightly, confusion written clearly in his visor. "B-but, I-i wear a mask, sir..."

The merchant chuckled softly. "Yeah, I know. But so do my brothers. The mask means little, Aid, when I can so clearly read your spark." His statement drew a blush from the smaller mech.

"I-i...," First Aid swallowed, attempting to answer Swindle's question. "I had wanted to go to the ball, b-but my brothers... they said no..."

"Ah...," the Decepticon replied. "I'm guessing they thought it to be too dangerous?"

The white Autobot nodded slowly. "Well, they're pretty much right," Swindle said. "There are indeed a lot of sketchy 'bots there. Best not to get involved with those sort of people."

"...I d-didn't so much care for t-the others...," First Aid whispered, "I-i only wanted to see you a-again..."

Swindle though hadn't quite caught the medic's words. "You say something, Aid?," he asked. When the princess shook his helm, the merchant moved on. Grabbing the other's servo, the Decepticon tugged First Aid closer; sliding his other arm around the smaller 'bot's waist and slowly shuffling them in place.

"Well," he informed softly, between humming bars of a waltz. "You don't have to go to a ball to have fun. I think it's nicer here anyways."

The princess was stiff at first, but after a moment, his shock and trepidation wore off and he stepped in time with the tan mech. His free servo trembled slightly as he moved it, curling it hesitantly around Swindle's shoulder plating. The motion though was appreciated because the Decepticon sent him a pleased smile, pulling First Aid just a little bit closer. He agreed with the merchant... this, right here, was a thousand times better than going to some far-away ball.

"Swindle..."

The sure call of his name pulled the other 'bot from his daydreams, unshuttering his optics and tipping his helm forwards. "Yes?," he asked. His optics flared suddenly, a blush working itself on to his own cheekplates this time. Without him noticing, his princess had removed his mask, a sweet, shy smile forming on plump lip components. The sight was beyond beautiful.

"Thank you," First Aid answered, his visor dimming as his smile grew a couple more inches.

"Y-you're, uh, welcome," Swindle replied, stumbling over his words.

First Aid's cheekplates started to lighten with a blush as well. "C-could... m-might we d-do this again, s-sometime?"

"Yes!," the merchant cried out immediately. Though the rapid response made him want to kick himself endlessly, it brought a gentle giggle out of the princess. Slowly, First Aid pushed himself up on his pede-tips, placing a quick kiss to Swindle's cheekplate. While the Decepticon was stunned, the medic pulled away, folding his servos before him.

"I-i s-should head inside now. M-my brothers will be home s-soon," he said. "Goodnight Swindle."

Swindle waved back dazedly, his other servo lifting and touching the spot where the white 'bot's lip components had brushed. Humming to himself again, the merchant skipped out of the backyard, blissfully unaware of the princess' brothers coming up over the rise on the other side.

* * *

**Sleeping Beauty**

* * *

 

Tracks, ever since he had been a young sparkling, had always become most mischievous at night. To reign in that wild behaviour, his parents beseeched some faeries to help them, and taking pity on the poor creators' plight, the faeries gave them the recipe for a very strong sleeping draught. They were to use it in the utmost care, the faeries warned, or else there may be dire consequences. Well, Tracks' creators were not that concerned really... anything that could keep their wayward child from his wicked, nightly ways was okay in their books. And indeed, the draught was amazingly effect. Slipping a small vial of it into the princess' glass at dinner ensured a peaceful night for the entire kingdom.

Unfortunately though, his creators' over-indulgence in their easy fix for their sparkling's behaviour problems caught up with Tracks. Long after his parents themselves had moved on to the well of All-Sparks, the winged mech found himself growing increasingly drowsy when evening started to fall; slipping into a coma-like sleep that lasted until the very next morning. The constant treatment of the draughts through his young years ensured an ever lasting effect on the poor Autobot, who found he could not enjoy himself a sleepless night. Not that Tracks didn't make use of those same nightly activities during the day... but, it did explain why he had garnered the title Sleeping Beauty.

Waking up from one such regular night, the princess stretched lethargically, his processor beginning to fill with the slow rise of conscious thought. Frowning, Tracks sat up. He could feel phantasmal touches sliding along his frame, stroking along his chestplates; sliding down his curvy sides and curling around his codpiece. The ghostly sensations were enough to get him all revved up. For almost a whole decacyle now he'd woken from his sleep, feeling as if he had been molested most wonderfully. But obviously, given his situation, the Autobot couldn't tell if it was real or just mere illusions created by his desperate processor. Indeed, it didn't help Tracks' already frustrated state.

It was so annoying, truly! All he wanted was to have himself a nice good frag, but there were hardly any 'bots around that would spare the time in their busy schedules to oblige him, and he wasn't getting any once dusk arrived. It was indeed a bit of cruel fate that put Tracks in such a sad situation.

Deciding that there was no use thinking about these things anymore, the winged mech got to his pedes, heading for the washracks to get himself cleaned up for a brand new day.

XXXXXXX

"I don't feel like it."

Blaster did his best not to sigh, but it was a battle he was slowly losing. "But you have to speak with them. If you don't, the Decepticon ambassador might get insulted, and we don't need things to get more tense between our two kingdoms than they already are."

"Your point?," Tracks deadpanned. "Honestly, I don't care about any of those old, gross mechs. I just want to get myself a nice good frag. I've been having these wonderful dreams lately. Of large servos roaming all over my frame, sliding back my plating, ravishing my beautiful chassis until I just can't take anymore and I'm ready to burst..."

The advisor was left blushing madly at the other's dreamy swoon, threatening to blow his own cover.

"T-tracks..."

"The only thing is I don't think it's a dream," the princess huffed irritably. "Which probably bothers me the most right about now, more than my constant sleep patterns. Why do I have to be bothered by these lovely illusions when I can't even stay awake long enough to enjoy myself a moonlit affair? It's unfair I tell you!"

"Maybe if your dream lover frags you, you'll wake up...," Blaster mumbled sarcastically, physically turning his gaze away from Tracks. The winged mech caught his words though and canted his helm to the side in thought.

"Hmmm... not a bad idea, Blaster," the multi-coloured Autobot cooed. "I must run now! I've got to see if there's anyone who'd be willing to frag me while I sleep!"

Before the advisor could stop him, Tracks was running off through the gardens, his optics glittering with wicked delight at the jokingly made proposition, unaware of the red visor watching him through the rose bushes.

XXXXXXX

Tracks was upset. No, really. He was fuming mad! He'd asked all around the palace, even deigning to lower himself to asking his Decepticon guests if one of them would like to spend the night in his quarters. Of course, knowing the "misfortune" that fell the Autobot every night, they didn't want to have anything to do with the princess' twisted scheme. Insulted beyond anything else, Tracks had stormed back off to his room, refusing his dinner with the ambassador tonight. He didn't care one bit if his actions tossed the whole country side into war- he was a mech spurned of his chance to interface, slaggit! Wasn't that crime enough?!

Angrily, the winged mech turned, plopping down onto his berth stomach plating first. The sun was beginning to set outside his window, noting the end of the orn. He could just cry. This ghastly sleep of death he was subject to every night destroyed any hopes of a relationship for Tracks. No one would ever want to be with a mech that dropped like a carcass come sun-down. Most didn't even want to be in his company during the day!

"I hate it...," the Autobot mumbled forlornly, burying his face into a pillow. He could feel his consciousness already slipping away. A tear -of frustration and despair- slid out of the corner of his optics. "I hate it all..."

Finally, the sun sank beneath the horizon; Tracks slipping off into his comatose state of recharge. He was lost to the world, and henceforth, did not notice his door creaking open.

XXXXXXX

Primus... he had to be in heaven!

Tracks arched at the pleasure assaulting his frame, curling into the rocking mass above him, fingers scrambling for purchase on the wide shoulder plating; lethargic at first, but growing more quicker as the veil of sleep was wrenched from the mech. Again, the Autobot moaned, feeling servos at his hips slide down the back of his thighs, pulling them further apart, allowing the spike ramming into his valve to reach a new angle.

"W-what -oooooh!" Tracks shuttered his optics blearily, looking up into the red visor so close to his own faceplates. "Y-you're – _Aahh_! P-primmmmmmmus! M-more, _aah_! Pl-please!"

The stranger complied to his screamed demands, increasing his already quick tempo, pushing the winged mech to the berth as he thrust into the wanton 'bot. Wailing in ecstasy, Tracks servos flew across the berth, gouging the sheets and pillows; even scratching the paint along the other mech's arms and chestplates. He shouted to the rafters above as he felt heat coil tightly within him, before it was all unleashed in one torrential rush of feeling -transfluid erupting within him, slamming into his own wave of lubricants, stirring the two hot liquids within his pleasantly abused valve.

His Decepticon partner was still rocking, slowly now, winding down to a complete stop; his helm dropping on to the Autobot's condensation-slicked chestplates. Content for a moment to bask in this wonderful dream, Tracks said nothing, merely sliding his arms around the blue mech's neck cables and pulling the 'bot closer to him.

"Mmm...," he sighed, snuggling into the warm frame, gasping when the spike still buried in his valve brushed against a few sensor nodes. "What a nice dream..."

"Assumption: incorrect."

At the voice, Tracks quickly onlined his optics again, pushing himself away from the mech. He was on his pedes in the next instant, backing away from the berth and the stranger, finally realizing just how dark it was all around him. His dream lovers never talked before and certainly none of them had interfaced him within a night setting. But, if this wasn't a dream, then... A touch of dread filled Tracks and he hurried to cover himself.

"H-how...?," he choked, confusion and fear driving rationality far away. "H-how can i-it still be night?! I-i, I'm not s-supposed to be awake when it is night!"

"Fact: you speak of your sleeping 'curse'. Status: it was your proposition that extreme emotional or physical stimuli would wake you while it was still night." The Decepticon had gotten to his pedes now, tucking himself away neatly, before slowly approaching Tracks. His servos lifted, trailing softly around the winged mech's shoulder tires, dipping underneath his wings and down his backstruts.

The heated touch made Tracks whimper in desire, tripping backwards until he ran into a wall and then he was pinned there as the stranger drew closer. It was a touch that was familiar to the winged mech, having been branded into the very depths of his processor. "Y-you... I-it was you, wasn't it?," the Autobot said, anxious hope filling his optics as he looked up at the other. "The ghostly touches... t-they were yours, weren't they?"

"Affirmative," came the simple reply.

"B-but..." How was that possible? The blue mech kindly decided to save the princess from his confusion.

"Designation: Soundwave. Title: Ambassador. Arrived with Decepticon envoy last decacycle; have been a guest in your household this entire time," Soundwave informed. "Status: you were uncaring to meet me. Decided to take that action upon myself. Fact: did not expect that the rumors of your condition were true, was surprised when evidence stated otherwise."

"S-so...," Tracks mumbled, trying to get everything straight in his processor. "Y-you decided to molest me while I was incapacitated?"

"Correction: not at first," the ambassador replied. "Motion: took place after first week. Status: had become enamoured by you, wished to touch you. Was not certain if such forwardness would have been appreciated during the orn."

"E-enamoured?!" The Autobot couldn't help his blush. This all had to be a joke! There was no way that this handsome mech would be attracted to him enough to actually act upon his flippant offer, let alone be in love with him. It was beyond imagining! "N-no, no, no! You must be wrong. I-it's not p-"

Tracks found himself cut off as those servos went back to work, curling about his wings and aft, stroking the rapidly heating metal. Moaning, he pressed closer to Soundwave, wanting to drown in the mech's wonderful affections. "Fact: in love with you. Status: is not a mistake."

The Decepticon shifted, pinning the princess to the wall again, and withdrawing one servo to remove his mask. He dove in quickly, before Tracks had much of a chance to admire his rugged face, engaging the Autobot in a fierce and passionate kiss.

"Inquiry: Would you allow me the honour of courting you?," he asked, pulling away after a lengthy moment.

Tracks panted lowly, trying to cool his sky-rocketing temperatures. Oh, this mech was so lovely. Acting like a gentleman, even after he'd already filled the Autobot's valve with his transfluids. "Court me?," the winged 'bot smiled coyly, pushing at the ambassador. He kept his servo on Soundwave's chestplates, leading the mech back to the berth. When Soundwave had fallen onto the mattress with a small grunt, Tracks slid into his lap, grinding slowly against his codpiece. "Oh, Big Boy," he husked, gently grasping at the other's chek vents, pulling their faces closer for another kiss. "You already have me."

Their lip components mashed against the other's again, glossa slipping past denta and tangling hungrily with one another. Soundwave was the first to break the kiss, his servos once more back on Tracks' frame. "Notice: good to hear. Inquiry: you are not tired?"

Tracks honestly laughed at that. "I've slept enough all my life. I've got lots of wasted nights to catch up on now!" His optics twinkled in mischief before he shoved Soundwave down into the pillows, intent on interfacing with his handsome lover again that night.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

 

"Good afternoon everyone," Red Alert calmly greeted, coming through the door. A mixture of stunned faces met him, though not as surprised as when they saw the great, hulking cyberwolf follow him next.

"U-uh, umm, R-red Alert, sir...?," First Aid started meekly.

"Don't look now, but there's a giant cyberwolf behind you," Mirage quickly interjected.

"Hmm...," the usually paranoid mech casually looked over his shoulder at Inferno. "Oh, he's not dangerous," Red Alert smiled, turning his attention back to the others. "This is Inferno, everyone. He's my new friend. Come on Inferno, let us take a seat."

They all watched as the red and white Autobot headed for the fireplace, noticing how that small servo was clasped tightly in the other's large paw.

You'd have thunk, was the thought passing through all of their processors.

"So, Mirage," Tracks drawled, turning his attention to the Noble sitting across from him. "I see you've finally managed to get out from your ugly, little tower. We have this handsome mech right here to thank, do we not?" His optics lighted on Hound, sitting nervously beside his princess. Blushing at the lewd look the multi-coloured mech gave him, the hunter was ashamed to say that he wanted nothing more than to run away from this strange gathering. But Mirage's soft servo resting on his thigh prevented him from going anywhere.

"Indeed," clipped the white princess. "And I would be glad if you would please refrain from giving _my_ mate any of your desperate, berthroom optics."

"Like that will stop him," Ratchet commented, coming into the cabin. He ignored First Aid's cheerful greeting, arching an optic ridge at Red Alert and Inferno sitting by the fireplace, before turning his attention back to the rest of the group. "And before anyone bothers to mention: Yes, things between me and Wheeljack have been better, so I won't be staying long today. The details are none of your business, Tracks," he added, catching the winged princess opening his mouth.

The medic canted his helm to the side slightly. "I'm actually surprised you're here. I heard you managed to somehow break your 'sleeping curse'."

All attention was on Tracks now, the majority of the group honestly surprised by the news. "R-really, sir?," First Aid asked. "That is most fortunate!"

"Fortunate, my aft," Ratchet deadpanned. "A Decepticon who gets his kicks from fragging unresponsive mechs? I rest my case on your level of insanity."

"Oh, don't listen to him, darling," Tracks cooed to First Aid. He winked at Ratchet. "It is a most fortunate thing indeed. Besides, it's not as if I'm unresponsive any longer."

"You're disgusting..." Mirage commented.

"And you're ugly," Tracks retorted. The two princesses locked into a fierce glaring contest.

"Well, I see we've gotten some more company since our last meeting," Ratchet noted, taking a seat at the counter. First Aid immediately set out a plate of energon goodies and a cool glass of oil for the older Autobot. "Where's Perceptor? He's usually one of the first few here."

"H-he unfortunately is unable to come," the smaller medic answered, his cheekplates tinged with a growing blush. "H-he wrote a-and told me that h-he was unable to get a-away from t-the palace at the moment. Ap-apparently, Prince S-sunstreaker and Prince Sideswipe a-are currently co-courting him."

"Yeah, okay," 'Snow White' drawled. "Courting... knowing those two, it has less to do with flowers and sweet words, and more to do with coping a feel as much as possible while trying to get Perceptor into a locked room."

First Aid's deep blush was response enough.

"I've heard that there's to be a new princess titled this week," Red Alert surprisingly spoke up. He turned his helm to Ratchet and First Aid, pulling his hood down. "A small mech by the name of Bumblebee. He's to be titled Little Mermaid."

"Ah... curiosity. I was wondering when they would fill that slot. What's he found that has earned him the honours?"

"Apparently, there is a small gaggle of tiny, furless creatures across the deep sea. Bumblebee stumbled across them and has been making allies with the unknown inhabitants since."

"I think it'll be nice to have another princess," First Aid commented, his optics glittering excitedly at the prospect of a new friend. "We should throw him a welcoming party."

Ratchet could only smile wryly at his young protege's enthusiasm. "Yes, a warm welcome indeed. To Bumblebee," he mockingly announced, lifting his glass. "Let him keep his helm at all times and not get caught in between the insanity that runs through the fold here. Cheers."

A distracted, half enthused round of cheers was heard around the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, this is where I started getting carried away with things... Hope you still enjoy!

**Prologue**

* * *

"Welcome, princess Bumblebee!"

Bumblebee gaped at the fanfare, confetti raining down on his helm and bottles of high-grade being open on his left. "Oh, _wow_...," the yellow 'bot said, looking around at all the decorations -and even a cake!- set out around the little cottage. "Is this really all for me?"

"Of course," answered First Aid, kindly offering a small glass of high-grade to the ex-sailor. "It's not often we get a new friend, and we want this day to be memorable."

"Yes, I quite agree," added Perceptor, finally free from the Twins' clutches for the orn, "And would it perhaps be alright, if later I may accost you to tell me about your adventure across the sea Bumblebee? After you've had time to enjoy the festivities, obviously."

"Well, uh..." Bumblebee blushed under the unusual amount of attention, hiding his face a little behind his glass. "Sure! I mean, if you really want to hear it."

"I truly do," the scientist smiled in response.

Tracks quickly crept up, resting a delicate servo on both of the mechs' shoulder plating. "What I really want to know," he started, a smirk growing on his lip components, "Is how you've been faring, dearest Perceptor. The reputation of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe precedes them... so do us a favour: _spill_!"

Perceptor flushed brightly, trying to pull away from the beautiful princess. "I-i-i don't k-know-"

"Oh, don't play coy with me! C'mon, out with it!," Tracks persisted, his optics glittering deviously. "Tell me, can they really frag as good as everyone says? Which one is your favourite? Do you like having your valve eaten out, or do you suck them off most of the time? Oh, are they _big_?"

"I-i-i... I really don't have anything to say!," Perceptor cried, turning quickly and trying to flee across the room. He knocked into Red Alert, who started fritzing in terror, causing Mirage to sigh in annoyance.

"Yep...," Ratchet said, tossing back his bottle of high-grade. "Never a dull day at our lil' princess clubhouse."

Bumblebee looked at the medic horrified.

"W-well, umm," First Aid piped up anxiously, "W-welcome to the fold?"

* * *

**Snow Maiden**

* * *

The fairy scrambled against the walls, trying to get his wings to flutter and soar so he might take off. But he could get no higher than to the tips of his poor pedes, and there were no windows to even grant him the illusion of freedom. The door creaked open behind him and anxiously, Fireflight looked over his shoulder plating.

He quailed when he saw the larger Decepticon enter, closing the door and once more locking it. "My, my, my," the stranger chuckled darkly. "What's with the sad face?"

"P-please sir," Fireflight whimpered. He didn't mean to sound so meek, but he could not help the way the words spilled from his mouth. "L-let me go; give m-me back my robes. If y-you do, I as-assure you that you shall be compensated. Many riches and r-rare finds can my brothers and I give you."

The knight came closer, forcing the fairy into a corner. His visor gleamed devilishly as he reached for the frightened Autobot, fingers trailing ever so lightly down the other's jaw, his neck cables and then his chestplates. "And what need would I have of such useless things?," the stranger asked. "You are prize enough as it is."

Fireflight wanted to weep. Without his robes, he would not have the strength enough to take to the skies again; as it was, he was already facing imprisonment in this windowless room, far away from the cool forests and babbling brooks that he adored. He wished to believe that his brothers would find him, but he had been snatched away so suddenly and unexpectedly... they would not even know where to begin searching for him, and it was obvious that the grey mech would not release him anytime soon. "...pl-please...," he whispered hopelessly.

"Come," the Decepticon chirped gleefully, lunging forward and scooping the delicate mech up. Fireflight struggled in terror, wanting to get out of this stranger's grip, and his servos away from his sensitive wings. But his strength was no match for that of the other 'bot, and he was carried quite easily away from his corner and to the berth across from the room, where he was dumped unceremoniously. He was pressed down into the mattress before he even had the chance to try and scramble back up, the unknown person looming over him. "You should go to sleep now. You must be very tired."

The fairy felt coolant pool about his optics unwillingly. "B-but... I am n-not tired...," he protested weakly.

"Recharge," the knight growled this time.

Fireflight swallowed back his whimper, offlining his optics quickly. He forced himself to go still, quelled the trembling of his plating, making his intakes even out softly. He knew it was probably a terrible pass-off for actually being asleep and that this nameless mech might know he was still awake. But what could he do? He couldn't recharge on the spot, just like that! Yet his kidnapper didn't say anything; after a moment, the Decepticon actually got off the bed, the door clicking shut behind him and the lock turning as he left.

For a few moments longer, the Autobot waited, before onlining his optics and sitting up slowly. He was once more alone in his poorly lit room. Unable to do anything else, the little mech finally began to cry.

XXXXXXX

"Stop crying."

Vortex stood before the fairy, watching as Fireflight did nothing but weep still. He had already told the Autobot previous times before not to do it, yet the fairy continued. "P-puh-please...," the white mech started.

"Quit your begging," the Decepticon snapped impatiently. "I've already destroyed your robes. You're not going anywhere, so accept it and stop your pathetic wibbling."

This only seemed to make Fireflight cry harder. The knight frowned behind his mask irritably. This was not how things were supposed to go. He'd already wasted a week at least, visiting the fairy and giving him numerous gifts, trying to make the fey more "comfortable"... or at the very least to get him to stop his frantic scrambling for a way out. Yet nothing was working and Vortex was growing quite impatient. He wanted to enjoy himself when he claimed his little Autobot; these tears weren't exactly doing that for him.

Perhaps he should change tactics.

"W-why... p-please, wh-why won't you l-let m-mmmm-me go?," Fireflight sobbed, looking up at the approaching mech. He did not have the strength or will to move away when Vortex settled onto the berth beside him; that sly arm slipping behind his back and under his wings, tugging him closer. The naive fairy thought nothing of it when he was pressed to the Decepticon's chestplates, his servos clenching into tiny fists as he looked up at Vortex pleadingly.

"I told you before," Vortex answered. He grinned wickedly at the white 'bot pressed against his frame, his servos dipping lower. "You are your own prize. Nothing could possibly compare, and it shouldn't be fair if I lost you, now would it?"

"L-lost...?," the fairy murmured in puzzlement. He squeaked when his aft was suddenly grabbed, being pulled up into the knight's lap and pinned in place. "S-sir, w-what are you doing?"

The grey mech chuckled. "Come now... don't tell me that you've never interfaced before. I've heard you fairies are quite promiscuous."

Interface?! Fireflight knew what that was, but he had never done it himself. He was a young fairy after all, and his brothers had respected his choice to not join them just yet. But this stranger... this cruel mech wanted to commit such a sacred act with him!? "N-no!," the Autobot cried, squirming wildly in the Decepticon's hold. "L-let me go! Please!"

Vortex growled, spinning around and pressing the white 'bot into the berth. His one servo was more than enough to keep Fireflight pinned beneath him, not unsettled one bit by the other's desperately flailing limbs. "You don't quite have the right to refuse me," he informed the fairy coldly. "You can't go flying off somewhere and I have you safe here within my grasp. Truthfully, I could have taken you at any moment that I had wished, but I wanted you to first be more comfortable before then. My mistake."

"W-wait!," Fireflight tried to protest. His wrists were captured by the knight's free servo, his thighs spread as Vortex wrestled between them. Tears were flowing anew as the Decepticon started a slow grind against his pelvic plating, his fear fighting now for space with his rising disgust. "P-please!," he screamed. "I-i-i... I've never done this before!"

That shocked the grey mech into stopping. "What's this?," he asked innocently, pulling back some. He still kept the fairy's wrists pinned above his helm, but took his other servo and trailed it down the other's frame. His fingers traced the Autobot's codpiece for a few moments, before finally digging into the seams and easily pulling the plating back. Fireflight cried silently through the whole affair, but did not attempt to fight Vortex, thinking that his obedience at this moment might grant him some more time. The Decepticon himself was indeed stunned as the fey's sensitive components were revealed to him -both spike and valve fully sealed.

"Seems I've got my very own little virgin after all," the fighter hummed to himself. Quickly, he slid the white mech's plating back into place.

"Well," he chirped jovially, as if he had not just been about to rape Fireflight, "I guess we'll have to save this for another day then. I will break those seals in time but I rather have you screaming in pleasure when such a thing happens. Making you cry out in pain is much too easy and boring."

Vortex's visor flashed in a sort of wink as he trailed his thumb over the frightened fairy's lip components, leaning down as he nuzzled the Autobot's neck cables; his servo once more spider-crawling down Fireflight's frame and coping a couple quick gropes. "'Til then my lovely fairy," the Decepticon said, releasing the smaller mech with a quick flick to his olfactory sensor.

XXXXXXX

Days passed by, and still Fireflight was locked within his tiny room. Vortex came by often to see the small mech, bearing gifts and all sorts of other treats. Now the fairy knew that the Decepticon was in a sense attempting to woo him, and could not be certain whether or not he was happy to be aware of the other's intentions. But such a concern lessened over time, as the Autobot started to weaken and grow ill, having been kept away from the sun and his flowers for so long.

XXXXXXX

"He's dying."

Swindle swallowed sharply as his brother loomed over him, red visor flaring in his anger. One servo was twitching, pressed against the wall near his neck cables. He wasn't certain when those dark fingers would move, wrapping tightly around his throat and crushing the delicate lines, but move he knew they would eventually. "W-what are you talking about?," the merchant stammered anxiously, glancing from the servo then up into his brother's face.

"The fairy," Vortex snarled, leaning in closer. "He's _dying_. You brought me a faulty product."

"H-hey!," Swindle frowned at the insult. "I didn't do anything of the sort. I caught you your slagging fairy, just like you asked. I'm not responsible for what happens to him afterwards."

The knight once more growled. Making a small sound of distress, the tan Decepticon attempted to rectify his last statement. "I-i-i, uh, I m-mean, you're d-doing everything normal right?"

Vortex scoffed, pulling back a little and smacking his brother upside the helm. "Of course I am," he answered. "I make sure the little Autobot is bathed every night and fresh linens brought for him. He gets treats every orn -all sorts of sugars and oil cakes, toys and books."

"What about food?," Swindle asked hesitantly.

"I feed him, obviously. I make sure he gets the best that the chefs have to offer each day, all sorts of meat and fruit and-"

The merchant's sigh cut off the grey mech's explanation. Shaking his helm, Swindle daringly looked up at his brother. "You can't just feed him that and expect positive results. I mean, this is a _fairy_ after all. He also needs to be in touch with nature as well. That's partly how they feed -by drawing on the energy of the Earth around them."

Vortex withdrew entirely, lifting a servo to his mask as he contemplated on what the other Decepticon had said. "I see...," he mumbled, before turning and hurrying down the hall.

XXXXXXX

Large servos lifted him off from of the berth, cradling him against a broad chest. Fireflight shuttered his optics slowly, intakes coming in soft and weak. A brushing touch along his neck cables told the fairy that it was once again his captor, come to pay a visit. As weak as he was, the little mech could do nothing to even protest or mumble a complaint to this molestation. It took nearly all of his energy just to notice that the rocking he was slowly becoming more aware of, was him being carried away somewhere.

"W-where...," he attempted to say. He could not even get the words out.

Vortex chuckled softly as he again nuzzled the fairy's helm. "A surprise, you'll see," he answered.

Fireflight had no choice but to accept the vague reply. He was almost lulled back to his weary sleep, when suddenly the world shifted on him again. Moaning weakly, the Autobot stretched across the soft surface he found himself lying on now, his fingers curling among the strange things sprouting near him. Wait... 'sprouting'? Warm, pulsing energy flowed through the fairy's chassis, drawing a strangled gasp from him. Optics flaring open, Fireflight turned his helm around to study his surroundings in disbelief, seeing the green grass beneath his servos; the blue sky above his helm, the flowers at his pedes, and the bird call crying out to his longing spark.

"I...I'm outside?," he muttered hoarsely. "W-why...?"

Something soft and velvety was thrown at him; Fireflight struggled with the material for a moment, pulling the clothe from off his helm. His optics were almost white in vibrancy as he stared in shock at the sight of his robe in his servos. "M-my robe...," he turned, looking up at Vortex standing silently behind him, "Y-you...you s-said, you de-destroyed it."

The Decepticon did not respond at first. "I believe your brothers will be looking for you. It would be best if you called for them, I suppose," the knight said, shrugging.

Tears slipped down the fairy's face. He... he was being let go?! After all these orns, the realization of freedom sparked an unfathomable thrill of joy within the white mech. He looked down at his robe -not long gone after all- gripping the fabric to his chestplates as he smiled in relief. So lost in his thoughts was he, that Fireflight was almost startled to hear twigs snapping.

"W-where, where are you g-going?," the fey asked, getting to his pedes, facing the retreating Decepticon. "S-sir...?"

"It's Vortex," the grey mech sighed in exasperation. "Stop calling me 'sir' already. And it's as it appears: I'm letting you go. It's too much trouble taking care of you, I thought I'd save myself the effort."

That... made him feel somewhat ill. "O-oh...," Fireflight said softly. He wiped at his optics quickly, slipping on his robe. Already, he could feel his strength come back ten-fold, his wings fluttering as power returned to them. His magicks were brewing within him, warm and light, like the clouds he loved to circle around. And in the middle of it all, was the silent song of his brothers, calling for him desperately.

Vortex was walking away again. "W-wait! V-vortex, sir," the fairy cried out. The knight though did not stop. Springing into the air, Fireflight quickly flew into the other mech's path, his little servos grasping Vortex's forearms as he looked up into the Decepticon's visor. "Vortex...," the Autobot started softly, "I-i... um, t-thank you. For letting me go."

The smile that graced the white mech's lip components shocked Vortex. He had not expected the fey to look so content, especially after being imprisoned for so long. "Don't thank me," he growled, tensing at the kind expression still being sent his way. It was unnerving, really. "It's not as if I'm really doing you any good. After all, I was the one that kept you locked up."

"All the same...," Fireflight replied. His optics turned away for a moment, glancing towards the heavens. "My brothers are near now. I will have to go. But..." Blue optics settled on Vortex, tiny servos grasping the grey mech's plating tightly. "Would it be alright, if I came back, here?"

The knight looked at the fairy curiously. "Why?"

The Autobot giggled lightly, pulling away. "I did once promise you a reward for my freedom. I hold true to my word."

The Decepticon's visor flashed at the unexpected answer.

"Goodbye, sir knight. We shall meet again, I'm sure," the fairy said, turning and ascending into the sky. Vortex watched him go, struck by the odd response of the other mech.

* * *

**Little Mermaid**

* * *

A small mech, painted a jovial yellow, tip-toed over the hill; climbing down its rocky, other side to the bay below. In the shallow waves, sat another mech, splashing his tail in the warm water lightly. Hearing the climber get closer to his spot, the mermaid turned around, facing his guest. "Hello, Bumblebee," he greeted, his vocalizer rolling as if he was speaking through a wave of bubbles.

The Autobot jumped down the last of the distance, giggling lightly as he splashed down into the water, soaking his legs. "Hey Seaspray," Bumblebee smiled back. "Sorry if I've made you wait long. I couldn't get away from Cliffjumper and the others."

The mermaid chuckled at the explanation, knowing right away exactly why Bumblebee had trouble coming to see him. Since gaining princess status, the former sailor had been restrained to the village mansion; his superiors giving him an array of attendants and guards to watch over the yellow mech. Cliffjumper, once having been Bumblebee's closest companion and co-worker, had been elected as both personal valet and bodyguard to the princess alone. And the red sailor took his new job very seriously. He didn't appreciate when his charge snuck off to go and enjoy himself, like he used to do before getting his honours.

"It's okay Bumblebee," Seaspray replied. "Spike has been missing you terribly though. Shall we get going?"

"Oh, yes please!," the princess said. He waded further into the water, looking at the mermaid expectantly. Seaspray chuckled at the other mech's eagerness, pulling a small, brown bag out of subspace. He opened it up, pinching two fingers of the sparkling powder within, and blowing the dust in Bumblebee's direction. It glimmered and shone like falling stars as it fell into the water; a section of the sea glowing around the ex-sailor's waist, churning lightly like a whirlpool. When everything settled again, Bumblebee fell back into the water, a mermaid's tale flashing into sight before following after him.

The blue and yellow mech smiled beneath his mask at his friend's joy to be in sea-form once again, before he flicked his own fins; disappearing beneath the waves after the princess.

XXXXXXX

"That was fun," Bumblebee sighed as he resurfaced, crawling up the shore as his magical tail disappeared in a wave of glittering flakes that faded into the sea, "But tiring. How can you stand to swim all day Seaspray?"

The mermaid chuckled as he lifted from the waves, only coming up to the shallows of the bay and no further. "Well, Bumblebee, I've been doing it all function and it's-," Seaspray cut himself off, his optics flaring in surprise before he started wading back into deeper waters, "U-uh, I-i think, umm, I should be g-going now Bumblebee. I hope you won't get into too much trouble."

"Trouble?," the princess echoed. "Seaspray, what are you talking abo-"

"YOU MORON!"

Bumblebee jumped at the shout, whirling around and smiling sheepishly at the mech approaching him. "C-cliffjumper...," he stammered, "H-how are you?"

"How am I?," growled the bodyguard. "HOW AM I?! Slaggit- I'm supposed to be protecting you, idiot! How am I supposed to do that when you keep sneaking off and going who knows where!"

"B-but...," the yellow mech tried to explain, "I was only going over to visit my friend Spike..."

Cliffjumper scowled at that, shifting his grip on his scabbard. "You mean that stinking freak? Nasty, little, weird covered organics... they're unnatural, I tell you, can't trust a single one of them! And you -you shouldn't be running off to go see them! Who knows when those miniature creatures will turn on you!"

"And another thing-" But the red Autobot didn't even get to finish. He saw Bumblebee's expression go from contrite, to shocked, before his optics dimmed and coolant pooled along his cheekarches as he glared up at the other mech. Not giving Cliffjumper a chance to even say a word, Bumblebee shoved past the red fighter, running up the hillside and back to the village.

Cliffjumper turned his glare to the ground, kicking and cursing at the sand beneath his pedes.

XXXXXXX

"So you're not going to apologize then?"

Cliffjumper turned to the speaker, scowling. "Apologize for what?," he growled back, slamming his sword straight into his practice dummy's chest. "It's not like I did anything wrong. I'm supposed to be protecting that idiot's aft, but he keeps on sneaking off for those miniature freaks across the sea."

Hoist smiled wryly behind his face mask, leaning against his staff as he looked at the smaller mech. "But it is his right, you know, to visit them," the gardener noted. "They were the discovery that has earned him his title, and he may see them if he'd like. I don't see you making nearly as much of a fuss when he goes to meet with the other princesses; why then is this any different?"

The sailor snorted in contempt, collecting the rest of his weapons from the training field. "That's because the other princesses' aren't freaks," he answered. "...well, they're not weird, flimsy midgets anyway," he amended after an astrosecond. "And besides, I don't think any of this concerns you! I'm Bumblebee's bodyguard, not you!"

"A shame," the green mech sighed, straightening up. "Because if you had any concern at all for your charge, then you'd realize that he is being awfully considerate to you by staying at the mansion almost every other time. I think you are underestimating the fact that since becoming princess, Bumblebee has been most stressed, but he swallows back anything negative and remains cooped up in this fancy prison of his, though he rather be out and about like he used to when he was simply a sailor like yourself."

The red fighter stiffened at the words, slowly turning to face the other Autobot. "What are you getting on about?," he demanded, unease growing a little within him.

Hoist gave him a disappointing look, shrugging his shoulders and meandering off to go check on his rose bushes. "I mean," he called back to Cliffjumper, "That you seem to be missing the amount of respect and care Bumblebee holds toward you, for someone that supposedly likes him in return."

Cliffjumper gaped at the statement, feeling his faceplates begin to burn with his rising blush. Spluttering, he tried to deny what the gardener had just so callously declared to the whole world, before settling on a simple "I do not!" as he ran from the area. The other mech looked over his shoulder as the bodyguard left, chuckling softly under his intakes.

XXXXXXX

"I don't want to go back."

Spike turned his head to the princess, his eyes open wide with disbelief. "What do you mean you don't want to go back?," he asked of his friend.

Bumblebee sighed, resting his chin on his folded arms. "I mean, what I said Spike. I just don't want to go back home."

"...is it because of what your friend Cliffjumper said?," Carly asked. The yellow Autobot turned to the female. He had only met her this day, but already he was growing to like her. The princess thought she and Spike would make a lovely couple.

"Well, I...," Bumblebee trailed off, uncertain how to reply. He was still angry and hurt over what Cliffjumper had said; but he wasn't entirely sure if it was for Spike's sake that he felt his way or because of something else.

Carly got onto her feet, approaching the Autobot. Noticing the action, the mech lifted a servo, allowing the human to clamber up into it so he could bring her up to his knee. She thanked him kindly for it, settling down onto the joint until she was comfortable. "I think maybe you're being a little hasty, Bumblebee," she said, speaking softly. "I understand that Cliffjumper may have hurt your feelings, and what he said really wasn't nice. But, you must remember: he doesn't know us like you do. Besides, I know he's only looking out for you. After all, your safety is now his duty and he sounds like someone who really wants to protect you with all his strength."

Bumblebee bowed his helm, his cheekplates flushing. "But, I-"

"C'mon now," the female grinned, patting his knee with her tiny hand. "If you ask me, it sounds like Cliffjumper really cares about you. I think you should go back and talk with him before you decide to run away."

"Carly!," Spike cried in alarm. "What are you saying?!"

"What?," she shrugged innocently. "I'm just stating what I've observed. Oh, look at that, Bumblebee you're blushing!" The human giggled at the yellow 'bot's energon-stained cheekplates. Spike could only shake his head at his girlfriend. Thoroughly embarrassed now, Bumblebee gently scooped Carly up, putting her down again.

"I-i'm sorry, Carly, Spike," he apologized, "But I think maybe I should get back home. I... I wouldn't want anyone to be worried about me."

"Alright," Spike smiled. "I hope to see you again soon buddy. Give that Cliffjumper a good smack from me as well, why dontcha?"

"Of course," the princess chuckled. He waved goodbye to the two humans, heading back down to the shore, to meet up with his friend Seaspray.

XXXXXXX

As he swam back to shore, Bumblebee thought back on what Carly had mentioned to him. Her words were very perceptive, and if he was honest with himself, he would confess that what she said made his spark pulse erratically. He was so distracted thinking about this though that he didn't notice the red mech sitting on the shore, evidently waiting for him.

"There you are!," the bodyguard growled, once his helm was above water.

"Cl-cliffjumper?," Bumblebee spluttered, his legs kicking wildly as the mermaid's magic faded and he lost his tail. The other Autobot reached out, grabbing hold of his elbow and yanking him to safety. With a gasp, the princess tripped forward, slamming into Cliffjumper's chassis and knocking the both of them to the ground as he was pulled out of the sea.

"I-i-i didn't think y-you'd be here," the yellow mech stuttered nervously, as he hurried to push himself up off of his bodyguard. "S-so, I'm guessing th-that means y-you're g-gonna yell at me a-again, huh?"

Cycling a heavy intake, the sailor picked himself up off the ground, fixing Bumblebee with a stern look. Anticipating the yelling, the minibot flinched, shoulder plating hunching up around his helm defensively.

"Would you quit that!," Cliffjumper scowled. "I'm not going to yell at you, idiot. I just... urgh!" The bodyguard threw his servos up into the air, before crossing his arms over his chestplates and spitting off to the side. "Anyways, I'm just... I wanted to say... Slaggit, I'm sorry, alright!"

Bumblebee shuttered his optics idly. "Y-you're...what?," he asked.

The red mech scowled. He forced himself to look at the princess, his face darkening as his blush increased. "You heard me. I just w-was... wrong. A-and, well, the, umm, 'humans' are y-your right to visit, so if you want t-to go see them, you, uh, can. B-but, umm," Cliffjumper frowned at his pedes. "I-if you want to go see them, t-then, just tell me, okay? And I'll be glad to go with you."

The yellow Autobot was still in a state of shock. He stared at Cliffjumper dazedly until the sailor could not stand it any longer and was almost squirming from the attention. "Would you just say something, heesh!"

Jolting into action, Bumblebee did the first thing that made sense. He threw himself at the bodyguard, wrapping his arms tight around his neck cables as they fell to the ground again, sand kicking up into the air behind them. A series of confused and embarrassed spluttering followed, all from Cliffjumper. The mech didn't know what to do! He had his servos full of a happy princess and all he was aware of was the burning of his cheekarches and the pulsating of his spark.

"A-alright!," he finally managed to get out after a klik, hurrying to put some distance between himself and his charge. Cliffjumper blushed darker when those lovely optics shuttered up at him, Bumblebee looking utterly cute in his confusion. "I get it, you're happy," the sailor added, "Y-you don't need to be j-jumping all over the place, okay? Now, l-let's get home. Y-you've worried everyone."

Bumblebee smiled, getting to his pedes at the other's gesture. "Thank you, Cliffjumper," he said. "For being so nice to me. It means a lot."

He chuckled when his friend flustered at his words, quickly turning and stiffly marching away.

* * *

**Rumpelstiltskin**

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a Count who ruled a large amount of land, but was also was incapable of properly maintaining them. When he was parading through his city one time, a daring mech stepped forward to address the Count on his frivolous actions and wasteful spending. Insulted, because the stranger had pointed out a lot of the Count's flaws that he had preferred ignoring, the Count ordered his guards to immediately arrest the mech and bring him back to his castle. There, the Count concocted a most fitting punishment for the stranger (one that went beyond his usual intelligence, if any were to admit).

"If you think that I am so incompetent," the Count told the other mech, "And that money is so easy to come by, then let's see you change a room full of straw into gold. Put your cleverness to good work, to help your so called 'impoverished neighbours.'"

Without a word or explanation as to how any sensible person was supposed to complete such an impossible task, the Count left; locking the stranger up in a barren room, with nothing more than several dozen heaps of straw and a spinning wheel.

XXXXXXX

"This...," a lone mech muttered to himself, fixing the mountain of straw before himself with a critical optic, "Is ridiculous."

Prowl slowly paced about the small space available to him in his cell, still looking at the straw disdainfully. Behind him, his doorwings fluttered in quick, short strokes, reflecting his ire at this entire situation. The Count who ruled their lands truly was an idiot -instead of handling his own mistakes and helping his people like he should be, the stupid brute had decided that the peasant was to spin straw into gold for him. Ignoring the greedy, self-serving action as it was; it was beyond idiotic to think that straw could be made into any metal, especially a precious one!

And of course, logic meant nothing to the Count, because that's how Prowl ended up here in the first place.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing for it then," the Autobot sighed, coming to a pause and slowly lowering himself to the floor. He tucked his legs underneath him, sitting down upon the cold stone floor, doorwings hanging limply behind him. "I can not turn straw into gold, and I do not have the strength or leverage to open the door. I am stuck in this room until dawn, but by then the Count will have come and seen that I have not finished his task. He'll fit and once he's done so, he'll have me hanged."

Prowl grimaced at that.

"It's completely illogical the structure of punishment and reward these foolish Nobles have, and because of such insanity I am now a dead mech. I think I'd rather soon see my own self hung, then sit and wait for a ludicrous council's sense of justice to fall on me," he added, in a sour tone.

"Well, now," spoke a voice, "I think it'd be a right shame t' take a life like yer's. I mean, we could use some more smart people 'round here."

The peasant sprung onto his pedes, helm turning slowly about the room. The suddenness of the voice perplexed him, since he had not heard the door open, and he was certain there was no other way into the room except the one entrance. He had checked after all. But there was no one to be seen, and Prowl was starting to think perhaps he had gone mad...

"'Ey, handsome!," the cheerful voice called again. "Up here."

Prowl lifted his helm and...

Crashed. Simple and truly, his processor became overwhelmed and automatically shut down, unable to deal with this new scenario on top of all the other stress it was bearing. Why? Because at this very moment, there hovered another mech in the air, with a black and white paintjob and a cheeky visor, looking down upon the peasant and looking much too pleased. The floating stranger shuttered his optics in surprise as he watched the other Autobot fall back to the floor unconscious, stunned that his appearance had caused such a reaction.

He'd never made someone faint before.

"Well slag," he grinned, twisting in the air. "I suppose this one might actually be fun!"

XXXXXXX

The creaking and grind of a rolling wheel roused Prowl from his recharge.

Slowly, the peasant sat up, a servo massaging the back of his aching helm. Just what had happened to him? He felt as if he had slammed into a brick wall or something. Onlining his optics, Prowl realized that the truth wasn't that far off from his assumption. The sight of drab, stone walls on all four sides made everything come rushing back in... especially the memory of that strange mech he had supposedly seen floating in mid-air.

But, that was illogical. People didn't simply float.

"I see yer finally awake there," that hauntingly familiar voice piped up again. "'Bout time too. I was jus' gonna see if a beauty like yerself need'd a kiss 't wake up."

Tensing, Prowl slowly turned around, gaping in shock at the stranger sitting calmly before the spinning wheel. The other mech was currently working away, hay twisting through the wheel and out of his servos; glittering and becoming stringed gold as it wrapped tightly around the spindle. The rest of the hay -which had been mountains before the peasant had crashed- was gone as well, a sizable stack of spindles, almost as tall as the doorwinged Autobot himself, collected just to the side of the spinning wheel. Each spindle was wrapped in swollen amounts of gold thread.

It was amazing that his processor hadn't crashed again at the impossible sight before him.

"...how...?"

"'Ow what, handsome?," the other mech asked cheekily. He finished his final spindle, turning his helm towards the peasant. "Ow did I git in here, o' 'ow did I make all the hay turn in't gold?"

Prowl frowned. "How did you get in here would be a better question. There's is absolutely no logical way for you to turn a substance such as straw into gold -it's simply a preposterous notion. So, you must have snuck it in here from another place. Henceforth, the inquiry as to just how did you get in here, when the only known way in and from the room is bolted shut from the outside."

"Jeez, ya really are a stickl'r f'r logical, ain't ya Prowler?," the stranger smirked wryly. "'Sides," he continued, "Dontcha ya know 'bout magic? The 'defies all sense o' logic an' reason' solution 't life's ev'ryday problems?"

The Autobot actively ignored the other's waggling fingers and amused smile, taking a moment to walk around the unknown mech and study the pile of spindles. Picking it up, Prowl inspected the gold thread carefully, half of his attention still on the other. "And how exactly do you know my name?," he asked, wary.

"Oh, I know a lot 'bout ya, Prowler."

Tensely, the peasant turned to face his unexpected guest. The blue visor flashed as the stranger rose to his pedes in one fluid motion; padding ever so silently towards the Autobot. "I've got many secrets an' truths stor'd up in here, ya know," he grinned, pointing to his helm. "M're than ya could probably guess."

"Such as...?," Prowl pressed. He didn't like the fact that this unknown person felt inclined to lean up into his personal space so casually, but he refused to be intimidated or cowed by the action, and remained as he was rigidly; doorwings flared in extra warning.

His response drew a small, rich chuckle from the stranger. "Such as yer gonna be havin' guests," the other answered mysteriously, pointing towards the door. "In five... four... three... two...one..."

The sound of the bolts being undone was like the sound of a cannon being fired. Shocked by the suddenness of the noise, Prowl twisted his helm sharply towards the door; straining a few wires in his neck at the action. The door was pulled back a moment later, revealing the Count and his retinue of guards just behind him. "Good morning," greeted the stupid, fat mech.

Prowl hid his displeasure behind a mask of neutrality, turning his helm back to the black and white mech that had been standing just before him. But there was no one there any longer.

The stranger had... simply vanished.

XXXXXXX

As a perfect example of greed, after discovering that his prisoner had miraculously turned all the hay into stringed gold, the Count then demanded that Prowl spin him more gold, proceeding to lock the peasant into a larger room, with even more hay than the last time. The Autobot stared negatively at the towering mound, certain that this time he would be dead come morning. After all, it was pure coincidence that he had even received any help the first night. He hadn't quite figured out how the stranger could come and go at will, but he doubted it was because of something as ridiculous as "magic".

The afternoon gave way to evening, and just as Prowl felt it was getting into the late hours of the night, he felt something in the air change inside the very room. "So... I'm guessin' he didn't lit ya go, aft'r all, huh?," the stranger from before asked, stepping out of a patch of shadows. He cocked his black helm at the peasant, an apologetic smile tugging at his lip components.

"I suppose that should have been expect'd. The ignor'nt glitch always had a hard time keepin' his oily servos off o' premium gold," the other mech sighed, shaking his helm. "In eith'r case, I should git start'd on spinnin' this slag. Wouldn't want ya 't lose yer pretty helm fo' somethan' this stupid."

Prowl crossed his arms over his chassis as the stranger skipped for the spinning wheel, seating himself fluidly in his respective spot. "Don't be ridiculous. You can not change a matter like straw into a precious metal," he repeated in protest.

"But I did jus' that last night," the other mech retorted cheekily. His fingers were already grabbing pieces of straw, weaving them together quickly -from head to tail- and then easing them onto the wheel in a smooth, well practised motion only experienced spinners could boast. "Have ya forgotten so soon?"

"I refuse to believe in something so nonsensical," the peasant repeated. "You never answered my question."

"Hmm?" The stranger made a sound of curiosity but his attention was utterly fixed to spinning wheel. It creaked as he began pressing on the petal, slim fingers twisting and pinching at the straw. Prowl opened his mouth to press further, but his vocalizer clicked off while he watched transfixed as dust -shining, glittering dust- sparkled into view, making the straw glow.

The Autobot didn't even get to see the glowing hay harden into golden string before once again his processor crashed.

XXXXXXX

"...Why are you helping me?"

After waking up -again- from crashing, Prowl had submitted to ignoring the issue of 'how' his uninvited guest was changing straw into gold and focused on the other questions buzzing in his aching helm. So far, the stranger had been co-operating.

"What do ya mean, Prowler?"

The peasant pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor in slight exasperation, holding back the sigh that wished to escape. "It's 'Prowl', not 'Prowler'. If you know my name, please be sensible enough to use it properly."

The slimmer back and white mech giggled at the scolding. "But that would be no fun," he replied, laughter still in his tone.

Prowl decided to ignore that for the time being. "How do you know my name anyhow?," he asked, for what must have been the umpteenth time.

The other 'bot cupped his servos around his audios. "Ev'r 'ear o' the walls havin' ears?," he shot back, grinning broadly. "I heard the Count's guards talkin' 'bout ya. Thought I'd see what poor mech got wrapp'd up in this slag this time. I confess ya wer'n't what I had been expectin'."

"... so curiosity was the reason why you wanted to help me?," the peasant deadpanned. "Somehow I doubt that your generosity is free."

A cloud seemed to pass over the stranger's face and his smile fell a couple inches. "No...," he agreed quietly. He got to his pedes, circling around Prowl in slow, even steps. Prowl watched him warily, uncertain if this person would attack or just enjoyed trying to get a rouse out of him. "No... indeed not. Nothing is for free..."

The mysterious mech twisted around him suddenly, lunging into his personal bubble. Before the other could protest, his lip components were pressed hotly against another pair. Prowl almost thought he was going to crash again, but the warm pressure disappeared shortly after, and onlining his optics -when had he shuttered them?- he saw that the stranger was once again gone.

XXXXXXX

The following morning came and again Prowl was moved to an even greater room -this time the library- with more and more hay than the city seemed capable of possessing. He stupidly questioned his guards about the odd mech, black and white like himself, that could come and go at will. They of course had no idea what he was talking about and only thought him insane as well as magically gifted. The peasant realized in that moment a few very key elements.

XXXXXXX

The lamps were low in the library, their flames flickering on the last dregs of oil in a few cases, before his personal helper came to him once again. The mech appeared around a bookcase, the usual grin on his face, whistling as he looked up at the incredulous piles of hay. "Well now," he chortled, "The Count seems 't have 'otdone himself this time. He sure works fast when there's gold involv'd."

By now, Prowl saw that these were diversions. A bright smile and a calm attitude, to keep the questions at bay. He let the stranger head for the spinning wheel, to get comfortable before he confronted the other mech.

"You are not normal... are you?"

The mech's fingers actually fumbled a little as he started to weave the straw. Silently, he picked at the knot he had made, undoing it and starting again. "Come now, Prowler. When has a mech ev'r been 'normal'? Seems a tad unfair 't be judgin' like that." Again with the smiles. Their unnerving presence told Prowl he was in the right direction.

Quickly, he crossed the room, pulling up a chair and seating himself directly in the stranger's view. The blue visor flashed curiously; lip components flattened into a neutral line. "Arguable or not," the peasant began, "It doesn't change the fact that there is something... strange... about you. You appear and disappear randomly, when all doors and windows have been locked and guarded, float in the air and can apparently change mundane objects into the not-so-mundane. And you skirt around my questions."

"I thought I did a good job answerin' 'em mehself," the other replied.

Prowl frowned. "No, you haven't. I want the truth, no more of your half-lies," he demanded. "Who exactly are you? Why do you keep coming to see me every night?"

The black and white stranger stopped spinning for a moment. He looked at the other intently, as if debating on something. Eventually, he spoke. "If ya don't believe meh when I bring up magick, 'ow am I 't expect ya 't take anythan' else I say seriously?"

He hadn't expected a response like that. "Try me," was his only reply after a moment.

The mysterious mech cast him an incredulous look, before returning to his spinning with a weary sigh. "I don't know what 't tell ya, Prowler. If I had a choice, I probably would have nev'r come 't see ya, but as it is, I don't. I'm what oth'rs would call curs'd. Can't rememb'r fo' how long, o' even when... I jus' know I've been stuck in this same place long enough 't see oth'rs come an' go."

Prowl's doorwings twitched at the answer, his servos folding in his lap in thought. "Last night, you mentioned that nothing was free, and just now you said if it was up to you, you wouldn't have come to see me at all. Why is that?," he asked.

The other still did not smile or laugh as he worked. "They were meh rewards..."

"Rewards?"

"Yeah...," the stranger sighed. "See, Prowler, part o' meh sentence, curse, whatev'r ya want 't call it, states that I've 't help any poor 'bot in need... Not necessarily a bad thang. But o' course, that's bef're mention o' 'payment' is brought up. When I help someone, I gotta take somethan' in return. A piece o' yer life..."

The wheel stopped moving again as the unknown mech turned his whole attention to Prowl a second time. "I nev'r want'd 't do so, but the curse forces meh..."

The peasant tensed in his seat, optics narrowing at the dark confession. If he admitted it to himself, he was slightly afraid now of this 'bot. "...exactly what have you stolen from me so far?"

"As o' now," the other replied, starting to spin again, "Simple conversation; a kiss... I have no idea what will be taken tonight once I finish. But I can't help ya anym're aft'r this Prowler. I'll break yer servos if that's what it takes 't git ya out o' the Count's greedy clutches."

"I... don't understand," Prowl admitted, perplexed by the contradictory statement. He didn't even have time to be worried about the mild threat made to his person. "I thought you said that the curse forces you to help others that need it. Why can't you help me after this night?"

Silence again.

The stranger sighed, pulling his hands away from his unfinished spindle. "Because," he answered, turning his helm down, "Aft'r the third night... I take yer whole life."

The quiet stretched on longer this time, as both mechs were unable to speak. It took all of his strength for Prowl to shove his shock to the side. "I... see...," he mumbled softly. At his words, the cursed 'bot began to spin again. The creak and groan of the wheel filled the peasant's audios for a while longer.

"Prowler, ya should git some sleep," the slimmer black and white mech kindly suggested. The Autobot turned his helm up at that, but could only shake it shortly after.

"No... no," he replied. "I think I will stay awake with you."

"...Do you have a name?," Prowl thought to ask a moment afterwards.

Finally, a smile showed itself on the other's face, but it was dim and crippled in comparison; evidence of his sadness. "No," he answered painfully. "O', at least, I don't know. I think, when I was curs'd... meh name was the first thang they took from meh. There's pow'r in a name; rememb'r that, Prowler."

Slowly, the peasant nodded his helm in promise. After that, there was nothing more to be said -nothing that could be mentioned- and thus, a gentle, almost serene silence enveloped the pair. As he said he would, Prowl remained awake the whole night, watching as the stranger spun hay into gold; before he could keep his optics online no longer and drifted unknowingly into recharge.

XXXXXXX

"Come on- get moving!"

Prowl tripped as the guard shoved him forward roughly, catching himself at the last moment and straightening up before he could fall face first in the dirt. His escort seemed annoyed at how well he caught himself, but as the peasant turned to glare at him, he wisely did not try for another push. Instead, he placed a servo on his sword, nodding impatiently for the gate. Doorwings still flared with his ire, Prowl acquiesced to the rude demand; heading out of the Count's compound and onto the main street. Behind him, the gates closed with a walloping clang.

Though he knew the action would be seen as pointless, and even possibly pathetic, the black and white mech slowly turned back around; staring through the bars and to the Count's mansion farther down the lane.

It had been two cycles since the Count had come for his morning visit, to see how his prisoner had fared through the night. Two cycles for the Count to count and preen over his latest collection of gold. Two cycles for him to realize that his 'golden goose' was incapable of feeding his greed still and threw a massive fit in response.

Prowl smirked a little in memory of that stupid, fat, ignorant mech, wibbling and cursing poorly as he discovered that he'd no longer be able to torture his victim with endless hours of spinning gold. Bowing his helm to hide his snort, his optics caught sight of his servos -the very cause of his sudden freedom.

They had been twisted and mangled in a manner most unseemly, proving with their very physical appal that even simple actions would prove nigh improbable or entirely impossible. Yet, they did not hurt in the slightest, despite how one flinched in empathy at their distorted state. Prowl guessed that was also the stranger's doing. As he had briefly mentioned last night, he must of broke the Autobot's servos after he had slipped into recharge, but did it in such a manner so as to spare him the agony. It had benefited both of them: first, by giving Prowl his freedom again, and secondly, by sparing the kind mech from having to be forced into taking the peasant's life.

Even cursed, the stranger was a good soul...

"I will find a way to free you," the peasant whispered to the air, looking back up to the Count's mansion. "No matter how long, or how far I must go to find such an answer. I will return, with both your freedom and your name."

Turning away finally, Prowl felt a smile tug at his lip components as he pondered on the mysterious helper a little more. And he realized, with some level of amusement, that indeed the stranger had stolen three very important things from his life. First, his company, second, his kiss; and thirdly, his spark.

* * *

**The Brave Little Tailor**

* * *

"...should have known better... rotten, good for nothing, hypocrite..."

Smokscreen watched from his little window as the femme exited out of the building, her basket of jams held to her chestplates and cursing up a storm at him. At the foul language she was using, he merely shuttered his optics, taking a bite out of the slice of bread he held in one servo. So what if he had only wanted a few ounces of her jam? He'd still paid her for it, and she had not informed him before hand the requirement for how much he was supposed to buy.

Honestly, she was just griping for no good reason now.

Sighing, the peasant finished the last of his bread, dutifully ignoring the hunger he could feel twisting his fuel tanks. He turned his helm to survey his little home -one whole room, with a tiny bed and an even tinier table- almost glaring at the scraps of material he had put out across the table; the work he was supposed to finish but couldn't drag up the motivation to do so. See, the multicoloured mech wasn't a tailor by trade, but without any other skills and with the pressing urge to feed and shelter himself high, Smokescreen was forced to take whatever work he could find.

Which still didn't help his case that much since he was a terrible tailor and most of the villagers disliked him anyways for his sometimes sardonic chatter and his sordid past as an avid gambler.

Smokescreen shook his helm, turning his attention out the window again. He sat there, staring out at the blue sky, for maybe a klik more before he could stand it no longer. "That's it...," he huffed, getting to his pedes. "I need to go for a walk."

The tailor gathered a few of his things -his last bit of cheese and his satchel- before heading out the door without another glance back at his poor home. Outdoors, the weather was nice and warm, but Smokescreen found himself unable to enjoy it as he was being glared from nearly every doorway and window that he passed. But once he was in the cool shade of the forest, the tension in his doorwings faded and for the first time in a while, the mech cycled an intake in relief. A walk around the village's perimeter became a stroll up the hillside, and then a hike up the mountain trail. The sun at first rose higher and higher but it started its descent back towards the western horizon not too long after, and Smokescreen forced himself to realize that he had traveled farther than he had intended.

Yet, he didn't care either. Why, did he wonder, should he return to that poor, ram-shamble of a village, stuck doing work he neither enjoyed or excelled at, while he was mocked and cursed daily? Not seeing a good enough reason to turn back around, the tailor continued on his path, going higher and higher up the mountain. Nearing the pinnacle, Smokscreen thought to take a short break.

"What's this now?," he whispered to himself, as he heard something rustling wildly in some bushes nearby him. Slowly, Smokescreen approached it, wary of vicious beasts or vagabonds. He had no need to worry though; when he pulled back the leaves, it was to find a poor bird trapped in a vine of thorns.

"Hush, hush now," the Autobot said gently, carefully reaching into the bush. He continued to coo, stroking the bird's head softly with a finger, while he worked to get the animal free without hurting it further than it already was. "There you go," he smiled, finally getting the bird out. "Now, let me just have a look at you before you go flying of-"

Smokescreen bit back the rest of his words, along with his yelp, as the ground suddenly shook and trembled beneath his pedes. The bird in his servos squawked in fright, flapping its wings, but it could not get away caged as it was. When the earthquake settled down, the tailor unceremoniously shoved the hysterical bird into his satchel, turning and facing the giant that was suddenly standing up through the trees.

Sniffling like a simple beast, the brute turned his helm this way and that, searching. "Who disturbed Trypticon?," the Decepticon rumbled, still looking about for this supposed nuisance, "Trypticon says he can smell you."

The smaller mech felt his fuel tank drop as the giant finally turned his helm towards him, staring down with his tiny, red optics.

Trypticon cocked his helm slightly as he gazed down at the Autobot, peering at the number displayed across flared doorwings. "Thirty-eight... Trypticon says you must be fierce warrior," the purple monster said, "You have killed many 'bots."

"What...? Oh, that, no that is-" Smokescreen cut himself off, thinking for a moment. Obviously, the Decepticon had mistaken his lucky number to mean something else and though he might feel inclined to correct a person for the poor assumption on another orn... the tailor mused that this just might be the change he'd needed in his life for a long time coming now. Fixing a cocky smirk on his lip components, the multicoloured mech placed his servos on his hips, looking up at the giant bravely.

"Indeed, my good chap," he lied smoothly, "I am a fierce warrior."

The larger mech shuttered his optics at the courageous proclamation, snorting in derision. "Trypticon will challenge you now, fierce warrior," he replied, reaching down and grabbing a stone.

Smokescreen tensed in preparation, the smirk on his face growing sharp. "Good...," he muttered under his intakes. "Good."

XXXXXXX

In a kingdom on the other side of the mountain, a King was in a state of distress. He had heard rumors the past couple days of a fierce warrior who wore the numbers of his most amazing kills on his frame, and who had felled the giant that had been causing trouble on top of the mountain. Paranoid as the King was, he was certain that the warrior was coming for his throne and wailed fearfully at the thought. Immediately, he summoned his best knight to court.

"D-devcon," the King cried, addressing the blue mech as soon as he was within sight. "Devcon! Y-you must help me!"

"Your majesty," Devcon replied quickly, bowing his helm in place of a proper bow. With the King grabbing his arms desperately, it was all he could manage. Slowly, he worked to pry off of his ruler's fingers, looking down at the meeker mech. "What has you troubled so?"

The king's optics flared. "Do not play daft! I know you've heard the villagers talk as well! The great warrior that killed Trypticon -he's coming to take my kingdom. I'll lose my throne!" The mech whirled away from the knight, pacing back and forth as he had been doing recently, wringing his servos in his anxiousness. "I'll be killed! What could possibly stop a mech that has killed a giant?"

The other mech set a servo on the pommel of his sword. "If you are so concerned, my Lord, then I shall go and confront this warrior. If he is foe, I shall strike him down immediately; if he is not, I'll be sure to bring him back to you, weaponless and in chains if it's required, so you can make of him what you will," Devcon assured the King. "Never fear about your throne or your kingdom, your majesty. They are protected by good servos."

"Ah, Devcon," the King sighed in relief. "This is why you are my most favoured knight. I will keep my worried thoughts at bay until you have contacted this mech; ride swift and sure, valiant mech."

Bowing at the command, Devcon quickly turned and left for the stables.

XXXXXXX

It had been a past few good orns, Smokescreen noted. At the moment, the tailor was resting easily against a tree, his doorwings lain comfortably along the bark; a bottle of high grade at his left side and a warm lunch on his other. Sunlight poured on him and his lovely hill, and down below, lay a village filled with people just as kind and fair as the weather was proving to be. It was all in all perfect. And Smokescreen relished every bit of it. Who would have thought his wits and smooth ways would have helped him defeat a giant, bringing him to a point of potential happiness?

Really, the multicoloured mech sighed, shuttering his optics, he should have left his old village long ago.

"Stranger..." a deep voice rumbled. Hoof beats came to a rest not to far away from him, a horse snuffling as it ceased its forward motion. Onlining his optics, Smokescreen found himself turning to look up at the unexpected guest, his spark pulsing in his chestplates.

An older mech, his royal blue plating dinged and faded with the passing of time and old wounds, stood atop his horse; white faceplates drawn in a look of scowling indifference, the sword at his side purposefully kept in sight as a preemptive warning. Pale optics, almost as colourless as ice with a tinge of lilac to them, glanced down at him, the unassuming look becoming derisive as the other's attention slid across his doorwings. Smokescreen could only guess it was because of the number thirty-eight etched across them.

Still, the focused look was enough to spark a fire inside of the tailor; who did everything to quell the rising blush, even as he smirked coyly up at the unknown mech, holding his high-grade in invitation. "Hello to you too. Care for some refreshment?"

"You are the one that has killed the giant Trypticon?," the knight asked, blatantly ignoring the offer.

A little disappointed, Smokescreen lowered the bottle. "Indeed, I am," he answered all the same, a jovial ring to his tone. "Would you care to sit with me and swap stories? I'm sure there is much to be said between two warriors like you and myself."

The stranger had the audacity to smirk at him contemptuously, which irked the tailor, yet made his doorwings flutter unwarranted with desire. He wondered faintly to himself what such a curl of lip components could do to a 'bot when dipped in lust and mixed with a hunter's ravenous leer. Tugging a little at the reins, the knight turned his horse back towards the village, glancing over a shoulder as he spoke to the smaller Autobot. "Warrior," he rumbled mockingly, "You are wanted at court. Come down to the village in half a cycle, and I shall escort you myself to the King. Do not dally."

Smokescreen watched him go, already anticipating the next time he met the handsome mech.

XXXXXXX

"Devcon!," the King wailed, throwing himself at the knight.

Not wishing to be clung to and wept against, Devcon wisely stepped back before his ruler could grab him. It meant that the mech fell to the floor, but as distraught as he was, he highly doubted the King noticed nor cared. Scrambling to his pedes again, the anxious Autobot began to pace about once more, his servos pulling at his faceplates and his denta gnawing at his lip components.

"Devcon, oh, Devcon... It is the worst!," the King bemoaned as his servant remained silent. "No matter how we challenge him, that... that... that warrior, always manages to complete the task! Now he's killed three giants and has captured that elusive unicorn. Oh, if he finds himself bored, he is sure to take my throne next!"

"Calm yourself, my lord," Devcon replied, his tone exasperated. "Your kingdom will remain as such - _yours._ I vow it." The King whimpered a little at the words, turning to the knight with tears in his optics.

"Truly...?"

"Yes," the blue mech answered, trying his hardest not to scowl. "Smokescreen is perhaps resourceful, but he will not win over the people. And in the end, they are the ones that matter most when it comes to who sits in the throne. Now, if you'll excuse me..." With a curt bow, Devcon quickly turned on his pede and marched from the room. He was tired of dealing with needy mechs that orn, but he was not surprised when he went from one yearning 'bot to the next.

"So... the King thinks that I want his throne, huh?"

Devcon stopped in his tracks, turning slightly to Smokescreen, who was lounging easily against the wall just outside of the royal audience chamber. His look clearly stated that the tailor was out of bounds being in this area, but it was a look that the smaller mech brushed off.

"He has many issues to be dealt with, if he constantly assumes someone's out to steal his throne from him," Smokescreen commented casually. "Honestly, it's-"

"What are you doing here?," the knight cut in quickly, interrupting the tailor. The other Autobot shuttered his optics at him slowly, closing his mouth, before opening it again.

"I thought I would come and see you," he shrugged. "Before the orn was over."

Devcon turned to face the peasant fully this time. "Why...?," he hesitantly asked.

Smokescreen shuttered his optics in surprise. "Why? Oh, well, I go off to capture that monster Sharkticon that's been terrorizing the farmers this afternoon. As your King has so kindly requested of me," he beamed, an innocent smile on his lip components. The sight of it made the knight scowl.

Silently, he glanced at the multicoloured mech's frame, noting his appearance. The once bright and colourful plating was becoming worn and pale; a wound from the other orn, where the unicorn's horn had sliced into Smokescreen's right side, still unwelded properly, caused the doorwinged mech to favour his other side more. It could almost be said that the smaller Autobot completing these dangerous tasks without fail or hesitation was admirable, but all in all, it was a sight that brought Devcon an unreasonable amount of worry. "You are still injured," he pointed out.

"That, well," the tailor looked down at his side, before waving the wound off and smiling at the knight once more. Devcon wanted to snarl in the face of such false cheerfulness. "It's nothing much. As a warrior, I'm bound-"

"You are not a warrior."

Smokescreen unshuttered his optics, his spark seizing at the hiss. He watched as Devcon closed the short distance between them, looming over the other Autobot. A hiss of his own escaped him as the fighter grabbed hold of his arm, squeezing it tight within his grip. "Why are you still playing this foolish charade?," Devcon growled, pressing into Smokescreen's face. "You are not a fighter or a killer- you are nothing but a mere tailor!"

Devcon watched as horror flashed across the other's face as the truth was spoken and yet felt no satisfaction from it.

"I-i...I..." Smokescreen wrenched himself from the knight's grasp, quickly putting some distance between them. "I am not," he spat, doorwings flared defensively. "Not anymore. I have done more than any mere mech has ever done -I've taken down three giants, for Primus' sake! I am something important. I am a warrior!"

"No, you are just a fool," Devcon replied calmly. "Do you really think that fighting -killing- is the right choice of life? Do you?"

The tailor hesitated, his doorwings lowering. Shaking his helm, the knight continued. "You are misguided, and for that, I am most sorry. Whether or not you believe it, you were worthy as you were before. I apologize for calling you 'mere', for even in that, you are not. No... anybot that is a tailor of sparks could never be simple or ordinary."

Surprise highlighted the other's optics again; Smokescreen gaping wordlessly at Devcon. It was almost an endearing sight. Slowly, the blue mech approached the smaller Autobot, his servo resting warmly on the tailor's shoulder plating. "I think," he advised kindly, to the mech he was starting to care for, "Perhaps it's time you returned to your roots, Smokescreen. Do not taint a good will and an empathic spark such as your own with wasted energon. It is not worth the lies."

Cerulean optics glittered up at him beautifully. Breaking away an astrosecond later, the knight cycled air through his vents quickly in embarrassment; patting the shoulder he was still touching, before stiffly turning and marching away again. Smokescreen watched him go, a slow smile tugging at his lip components. "Anything," he whispered to the empty hallway, "Is worth the time spent near you. But, maybe you're right..."

Smile turning cocky, Smokescreen turned in the opposite direction, heading for the King still in the throne room. Maybe the meek mech would be up for a wager?

One spark given, in exchange for a captured sharkticon and an easy recharge.

* * *

**Aladdin**

* * *

In foresight, Blaster realized he probably shouldn't have bought the lamp off of the sketchy merchant in the first place. But he had figured, it's just a simple lamp. What harm could come out of it? Maybe he was just trying to console himself with various baubles and the like, now that his beloved princess Tracks had been swept up by another, yet this was definitely not the kind of surprise or turn around in his life that the red mech really needed.

Staring up at the cheerful mech smiling down at him, Blaster did his best not to crash to his bedroom floor right then and there.

XXXXXXX

"Blaster? Hey, Blaster? Are you alright? You don't look alright. Maybe you should have something to drink. Eat? Or maybe you need some air. I can-"

"No, no...," Blaster sighed, lifting his face from his servos. "Listen, Bluestreak, I'm fine. Honestly. So just... can you be quiet for a moment?"

Bluestreak, his new and unexpected genie, bounced in his spot on the floor, beaming up at the advisor brightly. "Quiet? Oh, yes, I can do quiet. You know, I'm really good at quiet and silent and calm and kind and a whole bunch of other things!," the grey mech chirped excitedly. "I also know how to whistle, chirp, sing, ding, crow-"

The red mech groaned, his helm dropping back into his servos again. He says 'quiet' and the jinn's mouth goes into overdrive. It was utterly ridiculous! And it was doing nothing to help the growing processor ache the advisor could feel starting to spark behind his optics.

"You know, after what must be vorns, it's really nice to get out and talk and everything. Get some fresh air, see the sights. Oh! And talk to the people -how could I possibly forget that? It's just so nice, you know, and-" Bluestreak continued to prattle on, while Blaster dutifully tried to ignore him.

What was he supposed to do now with this talkative mech? Blaster just couldn't have the genie following him all over the place, while he tried to do his duties. Friendly or not, Bluestreak would cause quite an uproar at court, especially with his constant jabbering. There was only one thing for it then: get rid of the jinn.

Resolved, the advisor lifted his helm again, looking at the spot where Bluestreak had been. "Listen you, we need to...uh, where did you go?" Slowly, Blaster got to his pedes, moving around the room, checking to see where the grey-coloured mech had gone off to. He was beginning to get anxious again when he turned around, a face thrusting into his own.

"Oh, hey-"

"Aah!"

Bluestreak shuttered his optics at the scream, holding a photo frame to his chestplates as he backed away a little. "S-sorry," the genie stuttered, cheekplates flushing slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just wanted to ask some questions. I saw this picture beside your bed. Is this someone you love? Do you care for them deeply? They're really pretty. Does he like you back? Will you have children? Do you have children? Are you bonded? When-"

Blaster tried not to sigh, reaching forward and grabbing the picture out of the other's servos. "What are you talking about..." The red mech trailed off, his optics falling to inspect the image that Bluestreak had been so eager about. He could see the genie opening his mouth to continue talking, but at his dropping expression, Bluestreak was quick to click off his vocalizer.

"Master... Blaster, a-are... are you okay?," the jinn asked, his servos clasped worriedly.

The advisor said nothing, turning around and storming from the room.

XXXXXXX

He didn't even know why he bothered falling in love.

Blaster watched as Tracks went wandering past, Soundwave at his side as per usual. The Decepticon was being proper and reserved in his courtship, but the princess ignored all sense of propriety, pressed tightly to the other mech's side. His lip components were pulled in a blissful smile; his overjoyed laughter ringing through the air as Soundwave obliged him with a kiss and a quick nuzzle to his neck cables.

The sight of them together caused the advisor even more agony.

Why had he even thought that he would have a chance with the beautiful Autobot?

Tears collecting in his optics, Blaster quickly turned away from the happy pair, hurrying down the other end of the hall.

XXXXXXX

He could only go as far as his lamp. Bluestreak curled up on his new master's bed, a pillow clenched to his chestplates as he stared up at the ceiling. The lamp he was imprisoned to sat on the table beside the bed; he glanced at it forlornly, lost in his thoughts. Him and his big mouth again... he hadn't anticipated upsetting Blaster that much. How was he to know that the mech in the picture was an unrequited love, lost to another? And he'd been hoping to make friends with the red mech as well.

"Stupid...," he mumbled to himself angrily, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid."

The door slammed suddenly, startling the genie, who shot up in his fright. He watched as Blaster stomped past the berth, heading to the balcony on the other side of the room. "M-master...?," he inquired nervously, getting to his pedes and following after the red mech. "Master, is e-everything alright?"

Bluestreak hovered hesitantly behind the advisor, doorwings flickering in his uncertainty. Blaster ignored him for a while longer though, gripping the balcony's banister tightly as he stood, silently glaring at the gardens below.

"...Master, would you-?"

"You said that I had three wishes...right?," the other Autobot said lowly, slowly turning his helm to look back at the jinn.

The grey-coloured mech stiffened at the question. Since coming out of the lamp, Blaster had not seemed even remotely interested in him or the magic he possessed as part of his contract... really, the other seemed perfectly content in ignoring him and Bluestreak was sad to say that hurt more than anything else.

He was used to people pretending as if he didn't exist... as if he was not important...

Why did Blaster have to do the same to him though?

"Yes," Bluestreak said after a long moment, remembering that he had been asked a question. He shook his helm to get rid of the rest of the haze clouding his processor. "Yes, as your genie, I may grant you three wishes. That is my... function..."

The advisor smiled crookedly, his optics darkened and unfocused as he looked at the jinn. "Good. Then I only need one, and you can return from where you came from," Blaster callously replied. "Make him...," he thrust a finger down to the couple visible in the gardens, "Make that mech go away and let Tracks be mine. I wish that Decepticon was gone and that Tracks loved me instead!"

Sharp, grasping cold seized hold of the other's spark. The cruel words cut, but did not nearly terrify him as much as the madness Bluestreak glimpsed in his master's optics. "M-master...," he choked, falling back on the polite title in his distress, "Master... I-i, I can not... I can't do that."

Blaster's expression clouded further at the weak refusal. "Why not?," he growled lowly, stepping towards the smaller mech.

"B-because it's not allowed! Such, such a terrible act...," the genie whimpered in protest. "Something as pure as love... it can not be altered or forced. To try and do so would be to go against nature -and not even the power of the lamp can change that!"

"Liar!," Blaster shouted, closing in on Bluestreak. "You said you could give me anything I wanted! Don't you dare deny me now, you over-talkative glitch!"

Tears collected in the jinn's optics as he quickly backed away from the suddenly deranged advisor. When the red mech tried to grab him, Bluestreak spun away viciously, turning into smoke and fog and escaping back into the recesses of his lamp. The dark, fathomless emptiness of his lamp... but at least it was safe...

Safe...

XXXXXXX

Silence clouded everything under this veil of darkness, keeping even his presence secret from the one he knelt beside. Quietly, Bluestreak watched over Blaster as he slumbered, occasionally reaching out and brushing at the other's sensory horns. It was a motion that both soothed and upset him.

After his new master had frightened him so, the genie had kept to himself in his lamp, until he could withstand the loneliness no longer. So he left his lamp again... but he kept himself invisible, quiet, and just merely watched as the advisor came and went. Like a twisted sort of sentry, Bluestreak stood near his lamp, witnessing the pain that had caused Blaster to act like he did. Oh, how it caused his own spark tremendous agony as well. The other Autobot had clearly been very much enamoured with the princess, and losing him so completely, without mention or regard to his own feelings, had left a bleeding hole in Blaster's chestplates.

It was enough to make the usually kind jinn want to lash out and scream at the one that had left his master in this terrible state.

But he could go nowhere without the lamp, and he was forbidden from handling his own prison. So Bluestreak could only watch the advisor, working up the courage to show himself again. All the while thinking, 'Why not me?'

XXXXXXX

Another night, another troubled recharge.

Blaster lifted himself up off the bed, groaning slightly as he rubbed at his aching optics. They were hot and sore, from his constant tears and improper rest, a painful reminder to things he was desperately trying to forget. Pulling his servo away from his face for the moment, the red mech turned his attention to the lamp sitting innocently on a cushion across the room. Again, he sighed, overcome with guilt.

He'd never meant to act that way to the jinn, it was just... He had been so upset at the time. All he could think of was making that Decepticon go away, and having Tracks finally see him and love him in return. But Bluestreak was right; trying to change that was impossible and cruel. The princess loved Soundwave utterly, and losing him... it would only devastate Tracks. Could the advisor really be so horrible to want a broken-down version of the person he loved, just to satisfy his jealous spark? It had taken a few days, but he'd realized he couldn't.

And now Blaster simply sat, eaten away by his guilt at his own treacherous thoughts and by the knowledge that he had greatly hurt someone undeserving of it.

"I'm sorry...," he said softly, his optics tearing up again as he stared forlornly at the lamp. "I'm really sorry for what I've done, Bluestreak. For ignoring you, for telling you to shut up, for insulting you... You never deserved any of it, but I was so, so angry... and hurt... I just, I just wanted to have someone hurt the same, and I lashed out at you. But you were right, and I was... wrong..."

Blaster cycled a heavy intake, servos grasping his helm as he turned his face to the floor. "I wish I hadn't done any of it, but I did, and I'm even sorrier for that. I just...," the advisor paused, shame weighing down his glossa. "I just wish you'd come out now... so I could tell you how sorry I am, and how lonely I feel..."

Warm servos were cupping his cheekplates, turning his helm back up. Gasping, Blaster's optics flared brightly with his shock, staring disbelieving at the genie kneeling before him. Coolant was also glazing Bluestreak's optics, but his lip components were pulled into a serene smile; his thumb gently stroking the other's plating as he stared into the red mech's optics.

"B-bluestreak...I-i..."

"I know," the grey Autobot interrupted softly. "I heard every word. I've been watching over you these past few days, unseen, and I... I understand. And I'm sorry too. Sorry that you were hurt so bad."

Blaster shuttered his optics momentarily, his palm pressing against one of the servos cupping his face. When he onlined them again, it was to smile weakly at the genie; his guilt and shame still there, but the pain... a little less.

Bluestreak was still smiling up at him, though it faltered for a moment as hesitation showed itself in the other's cerulean optics. The advisor felt his fuel tanks start to sink, afraid that he was going to lose the genie's company so soon, but all such fears were lost or forgotten entirely as Bluestreak suddenly pushed upwards; his trembling lip components pressing against Blaster's in a chaste kiss.

A sigh escaped the both of them as they pulled apart, secretly each already missing the contact.

"If...," Bluestreak said, oddly nervous with his words, "I would be happy to serve you, Master, however you saw fit."

The advisor grabbed both of the genie's servos, squeezing them tightly. "I would be happier, if you would be my friend instead," he replied. Optics brightening in epiphany, Blaster continued, "In fact, I wish you were free Bluestreak. To do what you wanted with your life, instead of always waiting for others to make that decision for you."

What happened next was an unexpected turn of events. Bluestreak gasped as he was swallowed up by a veil of light, blinding Blaster who was forced to let the jinn go as his servos were burned suddenly. Visual pixels scrambling to re-focus themselves, the red mech found himself coughing away a cloud of smoke, searching for the other Autobot. "Bluestreak? Bluestreak, are you okay?!"

"Blaster!," a cheery voice cried, before he was being knocked backwards onto the berth, his chestplates pressed tight against another's, and lip components in the same predicament. Moaning as an eager glossa slipped into his surprised mouth.

His servos had slid under fluttering doorwings, cradling the other close, even as Bluestreak pulled back from the kiss; staring down into Blaster's face, cheekplates coloured light magenta with his blush. "Thank you so much, Blaster," he smiled, leaning down again and pecking the advisor on the olfactory sensor. "But I already know my place, genie or not, and I will always be here for you... if you'll have me."

Blaster tried not to cry. His spark was pulsing erratically in its chamber, his smile crooked and his optics hot as feelings of joy and overwhelming disbelief poured through every circuit of his frame. He hugged the grey Autobot back tightly, sighing again when Bluestreak rained little kisses across his face.

"I think," he mumbled softly, kissing Bluestreak momentarily, "I would like that very much. Thank you as well, Blue."

The former genie purred, resting his helm on the other's chestplates, arms wrapped tight around Blaster's neck cables.

* * *

**The Princess and the Frog**

* * *

In a kingdom a little farther away from the others, was a castle where there lived a ruthless King and his arrogant princess. They were not related, and did not like each other much either, but circumstances kept them together and the princess hated it. He watched through his cauldron -for he practised Darke Magick, wanting to overthrow the King and begin a new rule- watching as others far away were living their lives, happier than him, and he was jealous of them all.

He thought, 'If I can't have any of my dreams come true, then why should they?'

So the princess set to work, pulling down the thickest and oldest tome off the shelf, peeling back the aging pages and scrolling through the ancient Cybertronian. When he found a spell that sounded interesting, he put his cauldron to boil, stirring his deadly brew furiously. All that remained was for a special incantation to be said over the bubbling waters and the spell would be complete.

But of course, things such as evil sorcery must always be done with the utmost care...

"STARSCREAM!"

With the echoing roar, there went the potion and the rest of the spell, falling onto the misfortune mech storming through the door that very moment. Cringing frightfully, the princess anticipated the worse.

XXXXXXX

"It's your own fault," Starscream sniffed derisively, turning his back on the other Decepticon.

Megatron attempted to growl, but instead a loathsome croak came out, his throat swelling like a balloon with the sound. Scowling fiercely instead, the King turned his attention back to his nonchalant princess, vowing pain to the multicoloured mech when he was once more capable of giving it. "You were the one 'cooking' in here and-"

"It was not cooking!," screeched the other Decepticon. "I was trying to create a potion that would shut up those lovey-dovey Autobots for good, when your stupid meddling caused you to come lunging through the door and knocking my hard-work all over the place! You being turned into a frog is fair consequence!"

The King -now indeed a frog- hopped angrily towards the princess, managing a hiss in his amphibian form. "My own fault? Starscream, your incompetence blinds even your stupid self. Now, change me back before I scrap you!," Megatron growled, hopping up directly in front of the the slim Decepticon.

At his threat, Starscream sneered, laughing mockingly at the once great ruler. "And what shall you do to me, oh great and wonderful Mega-toad!" He poked at the amphibian. "You, are helpless, and I am free to finally take over this kingdom and rule it as I've been waiting for all these years!"

The princess could have gloated some more, but the smug look on Megatron's little grey-green face disturbed him; cutting off his prepared speech. "What are you-"

"Starscream," Megatron tsked, smirking growing on his slimy lips, "Starscream, Starscream, Starscream... Did you really think, knowing that you like playing with your dangerous toys, that I would not have a plan in place should you attempt to use those vile potions on me? Already my faithful servants are aware that has something has befallen me -they'll be here within an orn to correct this horrible impasse and deal with you a swift and merciless punishment."

Starscream felt terror clutch at his traitorous spark.

"Of course, I may be more favourable and spare you the shame and brutality of your punishment, if you take responsibility for this crime and change me back," the frog croaked triumphantly, "Before the others arrive."

The winged mech hissed at the threat, fingers curling into fists. He wanted to just bash his spell book over that arrogant King's head and smear his little organic brains over the place... but he couldn't risk it. If Megatron was being honest in what he was saying -and really, the only time that he mech spoke the truth was when he was dishing out promises of torture to the princess- then the others, such as Shockwave and the stunticons, would be on their way to deal with Starscream. All his begging and snivelling would not save him then...

"Fine!," Starscream snapped, grabbing his tome and quickly flipping through it to the page it had last been open on, "Silence your gloating so I can work on the counter-spell. Certainly, it's got to be in here somewhere... a turn of phrase, a remedy brew, or a... _slag_..."

Megatron twitched.

"What is the problem now, Starscream?," he asked exasperatedly, glaring at the princess.

Starscream was still looking at his book with a look of utter frustration and disgust on his faceplates. There was a little fear there as well, but neither mech was going to mention that.

"There...um," he hesitated, "Well, I'm afraid there is no cure, my lord." Starscream quickly slammed the book close, a fake smile coming to his lip components.

"Starscream..."

White wings hiked defensively. "What?," the princess shrieked. "What do you possibly expect me to do! If your blundering hadn't caused me to mispronounce my casting, then this would be a proper poison hex! Instead, you made me cast a stupid curse which can only be broken by true love's first kiss!"

The frog blinked.

"...a kiss, huh?"

Starscream swallowed sharply, feeling that sinking sensation in his fuel tanks again.

Megatron tried not to smirk at the whimpering expression his subordinate was donning. "Well, what are you waiting for you useless glitch? Kiss me and break this idiotic spell."

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!," the other Decepticon screeched, jumping to his pedes. "I will not -WILL NOT- kiss you, you rusting excuse for a leader! The mere thought is purge-inducing, not to mention pointless! I just said it has to be a 'true love' kiss -NOT SOME SLIMY, SLOPPY, HALF-MINDED ASSAULT OF YOUR NEVER-ENDING LUST!"

"Starscream...," Megatron growled.

"AND ANOTHER THING-"

"Starscream..."

"I REFUSE TO SULLY MYSELF BY EVEN REMOTELY TOUCHING YOUR GRUESOME FORM, JUST SO YOU CAN FEEL EMPOWERED, OH, MIGHTY AND RETARDED MAS-"

"STARSCREAM!"

The princess hissed at the interruption, turning to face Megatron. He watched, in impeding horror, as the King jumped, using the towering stack of books stacked on the table as a springboard, launching himself straight for the multicoloured mech. Unable to react in time, Starscream made a small sound of distress as Megatron slammed dead center against his mouth; smoke exploding all around them and throwing the two back from each other.

When the smoke had cleared, Starscream lifted himself up off the floor with a groan, realizing a moment too late what had just occurred. Lovely charcoal features turning grey with his fright, the princess hesitated a look over a wing.

Megatron, himself once more, was sitting up as well, irritably wiping the soot off of his grey plating. The scowl was quick to disappear when he glanced upwards, catching sight of Starscream; a devious smirk coming to his lip components as he stared down the other mech.

"What was it that you had mentioned, Starscream?," he rumbled, cruel amusement rich in his tone. "Something about only a kiss of love being able to break the spell?"

The princess eeped at the intense leer he was receiving, turning and scrambling away on his servos and knees. A quick arm lashed out, black fingers wrapping about a wing and painfully yanking the smaller Decepticon back.

"Now, now, my precious little liar," Megatron said, as he pulled Starscream to him effortlessly. Still, the other struggled valiantly. "I believe we have some things to discuss."

Starscream barely had a chance to respond to that before he was being pinned to the floor, his King's hulking form looming over him.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

"Come forward, princesses."

The Day of Reckoning, when all princess candidates were honoured and given their titles, joining the others of their rank, had come about once more. Optimus Prime, King of the Northern Region and High Bishop of Primus, stood on the podium; his double-axed staff in one servo and the blessed Matrix in the other. Beside him stood his opposite, Megatron, King of the Southern Regions and High Bishop of Unicron. The dark King had his broadsword stabbed deep into the stage, his servo wrapped tightly about the pommel as he stared down disinterestedly at the crowd. The two were here as advocates to the Higher Powers, to both give and acknowledge the rights that these special individuals had earned this orn.

At the request of Optimus, the titled princesses stepped forward, taking their already designated seats on either side of the podium. They were here to act as both witness and friend to the others that would soon be part of their fold. As they took their seats, Optimus read off their designations and the title that they were worthy of.

"Tracks, princess of beauty and passion. Mirage, princess of endurance and unfaltering loyalty. First Aid, princess of civility and goodwill. Ratchet, princess of healing and comfort. Red Alert, princess of caution and sanctuary. Perceptor, princess of knowledge and acceptance. Bumblebee, princess of curiosity and friendship. Please be seated and recognize the ones that join us here today."

The princesses sat, looking out towards the crowd beyond the banister, separating the podium and its lacquered floor before it from the row of pews behind the dividing fence. In the first couple rows sat their loved ones -princes and the like- each watching the ceremony curiously. With the exception of Wheeljack and First Aid's brothers, none had seen the ceremony take place before. As it was, some were misbehaving already, waving or beaming at their princess, which was not prohibited. This was to be a serious event after all.

Optimus though merely watched the small transactions of love quietly, a smile glimmering in his optics. Megatron scowled instead. "Will the candidates come forward now," he growled, releasing his sword momentarily to read from the list he had. "Autobot Smokescreen."

The fore-mentioned mech rose to his pedes, coming out of the pews and approaching the two rulers.

"Come and touch the Matrix, dear friend," Optimus called, holding out the artifact. "Under Primus' decree and by the witness of all here present and the heavens above, you have been honoured and applauded for your great courage and quick wit in the face of greater dangers. May you be a model of such for those who will need guidance in this wide world."

Setting his servo on the Matrix as told, Smokescreen bowed his helm during the speech, bowing fully when the the orb glowed between the two of them; sealing the knowledge forever in its never-ending depths. Titled now, Smokescreen stepped down from the podium, seating himself in one of the empty chairs set aside beside the other princesses.

Then Megatron called the next one.

Up came various mechs, from fairies to -horrors of all horrors- an honest to goodness Decepticon, each receiving their honours and sitting in any available chair beside their equals, until there was a total of five new princesses. Prowl, princess of justice and righteousness. Bluestreak, princess of forgiveness and sincerity. Fireflight, princess of optimism and kindness, and finally, Starscream, princess of love and devotion. Tapping the bottom of his staff to the floor to silence the applause that followed, Optimus smiled down upon the gathered Autobots and Decepticons.

"This year is marked by many things -the achievements of each and every one of those selected today, and the triumphant truth that the path to a better Cybertron is never impossible. You have all proven that this orn, by bridging the differences between you and coming together as a whole," the good King announced. "Let us always be as open-minded and willing to change for the greater good. Thank you and farewell."

The crowd rose to their pedes, bowing or curtseying as both Optimus and Megatron descended from the podium. They exited out a side door, heading somewhere deeper into the cathedral. Once the monarchs had disappeared from sight, the chatter began.

"Wow... they just let anybot become a candidate, don't they?," Tracks remarked derisively, coming up to Soundwave. He spared a moment to snuggle into the Decepticon's side, oblivious to the hateful glare Starscream was sending him.

"Excuse me?," screeched the winged Decepticon. "What was that you pampered whore?"

"Like you're one to talk!," Tracks snapped back, whipping his helm about and almost hissing at the other princess.

"...Here we go again," Blaster sighed, as his charge revved up for a fight with Starscream. Bluestreak patted his shoulder sympathetically, pecking the advisor on his cheekplate.

"Good thing you have me for a distraction," he grinned.

"Jazz, behave," Prowl chastised, grabbing his friend's servo. The other mech had at the moment been trying to reach out and touch the passing cyberwolf, who was making his way to the anxious looking princess.

"Aww, c'mon Prowler," Jazz whined, pouting up at the black and white princess. "Jus' one poke? Please? He won't bite meh, I promise ya."

"That is besides the point. You shouldn't-"

"So...," Smokescreen drawled, leaning in towards Prowl as he interrupted the other mech. "A princess that tops, huh?"

The knight with him quickly gave the tailor a reproachful look. "Smokescreen..."

"Hey, I'm just interested," Smokescreen shrugged. A devious smile tugged at his lip components. "Hey, Devcon why don't you let me-"

The blue mech quickly turned and walked away; the faintest hint of a blush on his cheekplates. Gaping in shock, the multicoloured princess gave chase, calling his partner's name repeatedly. Silently, Jazz and Prowl watched them go. "Jeez...," Jazz snickered, "An' 'ere I thought our love life was weird."

The princess simply crashed.

"Oh, would you look at that... So much for the princess of justice. What is he going to do if there's a problem? Faint?"

"Blades," Hotspot scolded lightly. He ignored his brother in favour of turning his attention to their youngest sibling, smiling kindly at the First Aid. "It was a good ceremony, wasn't it? Are you ready to return home First Aid?"

The princess shuffled in place nervously, optics scanning the nearby crowd. Swindle had said he would come to watch the ceremony... but if he had come, he certainly couldn't show himself in front of his brothers. "W-well," he stuttered a little, "I-i... I'd really like to stay for the following festivities. I-if that's alright?"

His brothers were surprised by the request, but, seeing as this was First Aid's companions to begin with, and there were many watchful optics, they saw no reason for him not to stay. "Very well, First Aid," Hot Spot said. "We shall let you stay with your friends for the party. We unfortunately have other duties to attend to, but comm us when things are coming to a close and we shall come pick you up."

Hugging the princess quickly, the blue knight gestured for the others to follow him and they left without a word. In the wake of their passing, Swindle crept up, pecking First Aid on the cheekplate. "Hey gorgeous," he purred, receiving a giggle from the white mech.

"Hello Swindle," First Aid greeted back.

"Oh wow... even another Decepticon is here with an Autobot. There are at least four today," Fireflight remarked, kicking his legs out before him. He was still seated at the front, merely watching the others mingle, that he didn't notice the shadow creeping up behind himself.

"You should make that five, cutie," the crazy voice purred, dark grey arms twisting around the chair and squeezing the fairy tight. "Or did you really think that I would miss your 'coronation day', as it was?"

Fireflight beamed, turning around to face the older mech. "Vortex! I'm so glad to see you -I thought you were busy though."

Vortex's visor flashed as he leaned forward, nuzzling under the princess' chin. "Oh, never for you precious. I was just waiting for the perfect moment without your brothers hanging around. I doubt I'd have been able to speak a word to you otherwise."

The fey giggled, returning the dark knight's affection gladly. "I suppose so," he said, smiling cheerfully.

"Everyone seems quite, um, happy today...," Hound commented uncertainly. Mirage looked at the others, rolling his optical sensors.

"Well," the princess replied, grabbing hold of the hunter's arm, "As long as they're not touching me with their so-called happiness, I could not care."

"Who'd touch you?," spat a short red mech. "You over-pompous, rich brat!"

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Cliffjumper!," Bumblebee cried, running over quickly to his body guard. He grabbed Cliffjumper's arm, tugging the ex-sailor back from launching into an angry tirade, turning apologetic optics back up to the other pair. "I'm so sorry for his behaviour, he's just-"

"Traitor!," Cliffjumper shouted. "The lot of you -dirty, no-good, lying traitors! You'll-"

"T-traitors! Where?!," squeaked Red Alert a few feet away from them. The cyberwolf with him perked his ears at the frightful sound, quickly curling around the princess, nuzzling the mech in his arms.

"It's alright, 'Red," he soothed in his southern rumble. "'Ere ain't no traitors, and ev'n if 'ere were, Ah'd protect ya anyhow. Ya trust me, right Red?"

Red Alert stiffened a little at the question, but he quickly calmed again, fidgeting with his servos in embarrassment. "T-thank you, Inferno," he mumbled, smiling softly.

Inferno returned the smile with a toothy one of his own, pecking the princess atop his helm.

"Hey! Everybody! Yo, I said HEY!"

The chatter died down a little, all attention turning to the red prince standing beside his twin, their lover between them. "I've got good news everyone!," Sideswipe grinned broadly, bouncing in place. "As congratulations to all the new princesses today, and in celebration of Percy agreeing to be our bondmate this very orn, the party is moving over to our palace! It's gonna be a huge bash! Food and drink included, and free rooms for anyone wanting to spend the night!"

"Come or don't," Sunstreaker shrugged, pulling Perceptor tight against his chassis. "Either way, I'm having fun tonight," he added, smirking down at the blushing princess in his arms.

"Sunny!," Sideswipe whined, snapping his helm towards his brother in childish jealousy.

"Well, sounds like fun. You want to go Ratch?," Wheeljack asked, turning to his bondmate. Already, people were heading out the door, chatting about the twin princes' party.

Ratchet scowled at the question, crossing his arms across his chestplate. "And why should we? It's only going to dissolve into a sex fling as soon as a couple cycles have passed and enough high-grade has been passed around," the medic replied.

"Good thing we're bondmates then, huh?," the engineer asked, his helm fins blinking in a multitude of colours in his amusement.

"And what about the boys?"

"Ah, c'mon, Ratch. Kup can babysit the dinobots a lil' while longer. Please? I haven't had a chance to go out with you for a while now," Wheeljack pleaded, giving the princess the sparkling optics he knew Ratchet could never resist.

And indeed, the other mech flinched at the look, before crumpling entirely, letting the prince take his servo. "Fine," he sighed, to Wheeljack's exuberant cheer, "But just for a little while!"

"Of course, Ratchet," Wheeljack agreed, leaning forward, mask retracting and kissing the princess softly on the mouth. "Love you."

"And I love you," Ratchet this time smiled, pecking his bondmate back.


	3. Chapter 3

**C.M.D: It's update period again! And alongside a few other chapters, I have yet another series of fairytale stories for you all! It's actually funny, because I hadn't planned on anymore chapters for _'Sugar and Spice'_ , yet some ideas came to me over the months since the last update. If any other good fairytales pop up, I'll be sure to add more to the ones already here, but again, no guarantee. In either case, enjoy!**

* * *

**The Six Swans**

* * *

"Good evening," a deep vocalizer greeted softly, the wooden door creaking slightly as he pushed it open. Ultra Magnus frowned at the sound, making a mental note to have a servant come and grease the hinges properly. For now, he put the problem to the side, turning his full attention on the young mech within the room, sitting in an armchair beside a window.

Glancing up momentarily, blue optics glowed warmly beneath a red forehelm at the Autobot, before the stranger's attention returned to the thallium nettles he had collected in his lap and in a basket at his pedes; slender fingers working the soft metal into thin cords at the edges before weaving them together in one large batch, one by one.

Having seen him do this many times already, Ultra Magnus knew the quiet mech was weaving shirts -for what purpose, the magistrate did not know. Thallium nettles were rough and irritable against the plating and had very minimal uses otherwise in their economy. In essence, they were like the weeds they appeared as. Yet the young mech continued to mold the sharp plants between his fingers, the malleable plant already dulling the colour of his plating and causing a series of small stinging cuts to form, while never a word of complaint escaped. Whatever reasons the other Autobot had, it did not retract from how strong his dedication was.

Already, he had completed four shirts.

"How are you today?," Ultra Magnus asked as he crossed the room, settling himself in a second armchair across from the smaller mech. "Are your servos in any pain, Hot Rod?"

Hot Rod, at the mention of his name, glanced up again; smiling brightly at the magistrate before shaking his helm and returning to his task. It was rare for the blue mech to receive that much attention from the silent Autobot in one visit, but Ultra Magnus did not complain. There was much he did not know about the young mech. Getting his name alone had been a long endeavor in itself and it came hurriedly on a scrap of parchment when Hot Rod was bothered from his weaving long enough. Since that orn, the officer had not been able to pry any more information from the distracted youth, so he had let the matter drop for the time; respecting his work ethic to what may still have been a pointless objective.

As his companion worked, Ultra Magnus politely shared with him the events of the orn, enjoying the serenity of the situation. Hot Rod never commented on a word spoken, nor did he give the magistrate another iota of his precious attention, but the older Autobot knew he listened. And so, he talked. A knock at the door some time later interrupted Ultra Magnus from continuing further and without needing to check who it was, the blue mech knew exactly who waited on the other side. Sighing, the magistrate rose from his seat, bowing courteously to the young mech.

"It seems I must depart again. My sincerest apologies," he said. Hot Rod glanced up at him in surprise as one of his servos were captured suddenly by the officer, disallowing him from continuing his weaving. Ultra Magnus studied the cut palms, stroking the other's knuckles with a gentle thumb. "I shall have a chambermaid bring you a soothing balm for these wounds during her evening chores. It's important that you let them heal as you recharge."

The young mech mutely nodded, cheekplates tinging with a modest blush as the magistrate then kissed the back of his servo, before allowing the other Autobot to retract his arm. Trying to ignore the reaction he had caused in Hot Rod, as etiquette dictated, Ultra Magnus straightened up, clearing his vocalizer as he did so. "Have a good evening, Hot Rod. I shall visit you tomorrow, if that is agreeable."

Hot Rod gave a brisk nod, grasping at his hideous project, and at his dismissal, the blue mech finally turned and left the room.

Only to find the hallway outside occupied by his reeve: Dealer. Equally as young as Hot Rod, Dealer had worked in Ultra Magnus' service for many stellar cycles now, carrying out his summons and generally taking care of the shire when the magistrate was otherwise preoccupied with other court affairs. He was a trusted accomplice -even if he did sometimes disapprove of the young mech's opinions.

"You needed to speak to me, Dealer?," Ultra Magnus asked, shutting the door behind himself with a frown. It did not escape his notice that the smaller Autobot had peered into the room beyond, his optics judging of the other 'bot within before he was hidden from sight.

"He's still here?," the reeve returned instead, trying to mask his disdain but failing. "I mean, pardon my comment your lordship, but you really don't know who that mech is. What if he's a spy? Or an assassin?"

"He is Hot Rod. Nothing more," the magistrate replied, turning and gesturing for Dealer to follow. He would not have this conversation outside Hot Rod's door, where the poor 'bot might be privy to his servant's less-than-appealing thoughts.

"Again, your lordship, my apologies but a name alone is not an accurate depiction of character," Dealer said smartly, keeping with the older Autobot's long strides easily. "It's been almost half a stellar cycle now since you pulled that mech from a crystal tree in the forest and we have yet to learn anything more than his name. He hasn't spoken a word even once and he spends all his time with those thallium nettles. With all due respect, your lordship, I believe it's a danger to keep a secretive commoner as guest in your manor for so long. He could easily be a witch or be in the service of some of your enemies!"

Ultra Magnus tried to keep his scowl from deepening, but he could feel it growing larger and larger with every word the reeve spoke. Finally, he'd heard enough and he came to a sudden stop, turning to face the younger mech. "Your concerns are noted Dealer, but I must ask that you refrain from declaring them any more," he replied, arms crossing behind his back stiffly, "I have taken Hot Rod under my charge, and though he is mute, his actions speak loud enough for the both of us. He is no enemy as you believe he is, and you would do well to mind your manners while in his vicinity. Gossip is not a kind thing to hear about one's self."

Dealer shifted on his pedes minutely -the only indication that he did not take kindly to the scolding- yet he said nothing in retort, and, pleased, Ultra Magnus nodded, believing the matter to be over. The moment his back was turned towards the reeve though, a biting "I still don't think you should be getting lovey-dovey with him" was mumbled in Dealer's vocalizer.

Helm snapping back in righteous anger, the magistrate was annoyed to see that the young mech had already hurried from his presence. He would have to straighten the reeve out later for his words, he decided. For now, the cycle was getting late and the orn was well on its way to being over. Recharge would be best at this time. Heading straight for his room, Ultra Magnus tried to soothe his annoyance with his trusted servant, while pushing aside the feelings that had risen at the mention of Hot Rod.

**xxxxxx**

As the seasons changed, Hot Rod found himself sitting more and more beside the berthroom window. It wasn't for light, because the clouding skies of approaching winter provided very little, but the snapping wind that blew in through the pane cracks were a great deterrence against recharging and at a time like this, the Autobot needed to keep awake as long as possible. Though he had allowed himself to be taken in by the dutiful Ultra Magnus in mid-spring, Hot Rod knew he had little time to express his gratitude or associate with anyone.

For what none in this valley knew was that Hot Rod was in fact nobility -one of seven noble children, actually, and the only one capable of breaking a cruel curse placed on his other siblings.

Before the last stellar cycle, the young mech had lived in a quaint castle with his six sisters, nestled safely in an enchanted forest and kept tucked away from the rest of the world. Their guardian, a wizened old mech named Alpha Trion, believed them to be in danger and done everything in his power to remove them from harm's way. Having never seen this supposed "evil", Hot Rod had grown to hate his home, but his sisters hadn't minded the solitude. Then one night, something approached the castle... The sisters went to investigate, wary, for it was much too late for their guardian to be visiting, and were accosted by a warlock not far from the gates.

Hot Rod had awoken to the sounds of magick being cast and his sisters' screams. By the time he had raced outside, the warlock was already disappearing in another cloud of spell-casting and the young mech watched in horror as his sisters' fallen forms transformed into hideous insecticon shapes and escaped into the darkness in wild panic. Bereaved, it had taken the Autobot kliks to shake out of his stupor, and another cycle to prepare to track down his sisters. He left the safety of his home and the enchanted forest, traveling non-stop for orns, desperate to find the others and hoping they hadn't lost themselves to the dark magic.

It was luck that before winter's start, he had found them in the mountains -or more appropriately, they had found him. In the last cycle before dusk, magick had encircled six insecticons as they swarmed the young mech, changing them from the ugly beasts into the fair femmes that they used to resemble. Hot Rod wanted to celebrate his good fortune, but the moment was short-lived. Chromia, the oldest, had grabbed him at once and intoned the dire circumstances of their situation. She said that this transformation to their original selves was only for a cycle each evening and that only one of their kin could free them fully from this curse before it solidified in another stellar cycle's time. If the spell was not broken by the end of the second stellar cycle, the sisters would be forced to live the rest of their orns out as cannibalistic creatures. But the requirements were nearly impossible... The one who chose to take on this task would have to live in silence -never speak or laugh- until six shirts were woven from the irritable thallium nettles and donned by the six femmes.

With no one else to turn to, they beseeched Hot Rod to find Alpha Trion, and sent him off quickly before they were insecticons once more. Unknown to them though, the red mech had vowed to free his sisters himself, not sure he could even find their guardian in this wide world and vastly aware of how little time they had left before the curse became complete. Hurrying to the nearest forests, Hot Rod began his task of collecting nettles, sealing his lip components against every stinging cut and scrape that formed as he worked. He spent the winter seeking poor shelter in the thick arms of the crystal trees, managing to weave nearly two whole -if poorly constructed- shirts, before spring came, bringing along with it Ultra Magnus and his retinue.

The magistrate had seemed stricken with concern at the young mech's state and without contest, brought Hot Rod back to his manor in the nearby valley. From there on in, he let the red Autobot continue his strange task, even bringing him more nettles and soothing balms for his roughened fingers. The older mech's gentle, doting attentions slowly wormed their way into Hot Rod's spark and the impetuous noble found himself beginning to fall for the officer. Alas, he could never speak of his feelings, nor answer Ultra Magnus' curious inquires when he asked what the smaller Autobot weaved for. Pausing for a moment in his work, Hot Rod looked out the window sadly, noting that the farm lands had been finally cleared.

The harvest was over and winter would be upon the valley soon. In two more months, his sisters' chance for freedom would have run out...

Fingers tightening around his fifth shirt, the young mech resolved to spend an extra two cycles every night to finish his weaving. Before he could turn back to his work though, Hot Rod noticed a sinewy shadow moving through the dead stillness of the manor's courtyard; the figure heavily cloaked and slipping through the servants' gate with a satchel tucked under their one, visible arm.

**xxxxxx**

The morning after, there was a great ruckus in the manor. Hot Rod, who had been given rooms on the far side, was startled from his recharge by the cacophony of stomping pedes and shouting vocalizers. Though he was unclear of what was happening, the noble hurried to gather his woven shirts and nettles into a basket, feeling a strange sense of urgency; securing the lid just as there was a vicious pounding on his door. Before he could answer it, a pair of officers barged into the room, rushing for the startled Autobot.

"Cuff him," Dealer ordered from the doorway, two more officers flanking his side. "Be wary; we don't know what this thief is capable of."

Thief? _Him?_ Hot Rod wanted to protest this insane assumption -and he almost did, before the red mech managed to bite his glossa in time. He had no idea what was going on but now was not the moment to forget why he had taken a vow of silence. Not when he was finally so close! Bitterly, Hot Rod had no choice but to surrender himself to the reeve and his attendants, wincing as iron cuffs were snapped around his wrists as he was escorted from his room.

It would be cycles before he was even informed of the charges.

**xxxxxx**

The small attendance hall of his manor was rife with noise this orn; an unusual occurrence as most of the peasants would normally be spending the time preparing their households for the oncoming winter. Then again, such an incident as this had never occurred in the valley before either. Ignoring the stinging bandage under his robe's collar, Ultra Magnus took to the judge's chair, looking over the crowd of villagers that whispered impatiently among themselves. Many optics glanced frequently towards his hidden wound; the hissing of vocalizers increasing as they did.

Frowning, the magistrate raised a servo, watching with dull contentment as the crowd fell silent. With a nod to Dealer, a side door opened in the hall, chains clinking softly together as Hot Rod was escorted out by a pair of guards. Though the peasants shared hateful looks, they did not talk again amongst themselves. They already knew that Ultra Magnus would not tolerate it while the trial was in session, and none wished to miss out on this scandal. Brought to stand before the judge's chair, Hot Rod looked up at the older mech; his expression unreadable. For his part, Ultra Magnus hoped his face mimicked the same.

"Hot Rod, of the crystal tree forest, you are hereby charged with the grievous crimes of attempted murder and thievery of the highest degree," the magistrate began stiffly. "How do you plead?"

Whatever the blue Autobot had hoped for, silence was not it. Lip components pressed tightly together, Hot Rod did not even try to make some sort of demonstration. He stood, like the very tree Ultra Magnus had found him in, rooted to the spot while his optics glowed with some sad light. It made the older Autobot's spark wither but he shook his helm minutely, refusing to be swayed. This was a trial; the young mech a suspected criminal.

"Will you not even attempt to pledge your guiltlessness?"

Still no response. With a painful vent, Ultra Magnus grabbed hold of his gavel, clenching it tightly in one fist as he spoke -almost _pleaded_ \- one last time with the noble. "If you disclose the location of the Magnificence -the holy artifact entrusted to my care by His Majesty Prime- then you may be favoured for your assistance and your sentence lightened. Will you speak now?," he asked, hoping against hope secretly.

The magistrate stiffened in his chair when Hot Rod finally glanced away from him, believing for a moment... But the young mech merely shook his helm, staring down at his pedes as a wave of gossip broke out among the villagers. Angrily, the older Autobot cracked his hammer across the podium, glaring as the peasants were quickly cowed into silence once more. Turning his gaze to the noble again, Ultra Magnus found himself struggling to remain impartial, yet he held his stare, lifting his gavel a second time.

"In light of your defiance and the crimes you have committed not only against your fellow mech, but the kingdom and the Prime himself, I hereby charge you with high treason. The punishment: execution," Ultra Magnus announced heavily, another loud crack thundering across the still silent audience hall. "Officers, return the prisoner to his cell."

Rapidly, the guards rose to obey the order, grabbing Hot Rod by the elbows and moving him from the room. The villagers, now that court had closed, hissed and spat curses at the young mech's pedes as he was hastened away from them; a few other officers forced to wave the crowd out of the manor before their ire grew to violence. His spark a whirl of conflicting emotions, Ultra Magnus watched as the audience hall was emptied, until only himself and Dealer remained.

"I'm sorry, your lordship," the reeve commented softly. "I only wish that your judge of Hot Rod's character was true."

Frown tightening, the magistrate finished writing out the results of the trial, placing his signature and seal upon the scroll before testily handing the parchment to Dealer. He did not remark on his servant's statement nor did he allow the grief to show on his face as he headed into the private depths of his manor.

**xxxxxx**

Three orns and three nights passed, as the village gathered wood to build an executioner's platform in the square. The poor noble, unable to speak, spent the last of his time in throes of anger and grief. He knew he was innocent and he knew that the true thief had been the cloaked stranger slipping through the manor courtyard late in the night, but how could he confess and have anyone understand before it was too late for his sisters? Instead, when a priest was issued to him for final penance, Hot Rod made a desperate plea to have his weaving returned to him. Ultra Magnus, still beholden to the young mech, allowed the request.

Fighting back tears and struggling through the exhaustion, Hot Rod continued his valiant task. On the morn of his execution, he finished tying off the last of the sixth shirt; servos trembling and leaving imprints of energon all over the thallium. Packing the lot in a basket, it was the only thing the red Autobot took with him out of his cell, climbing into the prison carriage and riding silently to the town square.

In audience of nearly every villager, Ultra Magnus reiterated the criminal's crimes to the crowd; one officer walking Hot Rod up to the platform where the executioner awaited, axe blade shining in the dim light of winter. As he knelt over the chopping block, the basket left at his side, Hot Rod noticed a hooded figure in the crowd. His optics flared, recognizing the familiar shape and colour of clothe, Dealer's face grinning darkly up at the podium. Tears rose with a rush of rage -here was the true criminal, watching as another fell for his cruel acts, and still the young mech could say nothing! Catching a glimmer of the executioner's weapon rising, Hot Rod shuttered his optics tight, helm dropping limply over the lip of the block as he resigned himself to this injustice.

Suddenly though, the air was rent with the buzzing of a great many wing; villagers screaming and fleeing in terror as a whole swarm of insecticons rose out from the nearby forest, sweeping low for the little village. Hot Rod felt his spark swell with hope as one of the creatures swung down on the podium, knocking the executioner to the ground below and turning to the officer next. Not wasting a moment, the noble leapt to his pedes and grabbed a shirt from the basket, pulling the neck over the insection's helm before it realized what he was up to.

Immediately, light flared from the creature, plating peeling back and changing colour, until a femme knelt where the wild thing once had; the thallium shirt melting away to soft cotton as the curse was lifted. "Hot Rod?," Chromia groaned, shaking off the last weight of magick.

His sister looked at him blearily, quickly surveying the commotion, before the femme held her finger up to the red mech. "Hold your glossa just a little longer. At least, 'til the others have been freed," she ordered.

Hot Rod nodded in acknowledgment, biting back his yelp as Chromia broke the chain linking his shackles. With more maneuverability, the two were able to grab a shirt each, heading into the panic of the crowd and dressing two more of the insecticons. As with Chromia, light bloomed in the grey square, figures transforming until two more of their sisters stood as they once were. Now free, Arcee and Lancer hurried to help lift the curse on the rest of the siblings, before they or a villager were hurt in the mayhem.

Grasping a thallium shirt in his aching servos, Hot Rod scanned the scattered crowd, trying to locate another of the creatures. It was then that he noticed Dealer hurrying to flee the scene while everyone was distracted; a lumpy satchel bouncing under his arm. Anger rose in the red Autobot, and despite all sense, he threw the last of the woven shirts to the floor, sprinting past screaming villagers and over fallen items until he was close enough to lunge at the reeve. Not suspecting the attack, the two of them tumbled to the ground roughly, legs kicking and servos flying as they fought to separate and clamber back on to their pedes.

With his injuries, Hot Rod was not as quick and he found himself looking up at Dealer; a cough escaping as energon slipped from the corner of his mouth, one servo blindly grasping for the blade jutting from his side. A chorus of angry cries echoed out across the sky, all six of his sisters -finally free- rushing forward and tackling Dealer to the floor, where they held the struggling mech down.

"Is this what you call 'justice'?!," Greenlight yelled at Ultra Magnus as he ran over, a few guards trailing behind him. Villagers, still overcoming their terror as the last of the insecticons had vanished, slowly peeked out around houses and inched toward the scene unfolding before them. "Our brother spent more than a stellar cycle in silence and isolation, all to set us free from an evil wizard's curse. Instead of honor, he is being executed? Why?!"

"H-he...," the magistrate struggled to answer, his optics wide and horrified as he looked down on the bleeding noble. "He is a thief..."

Hot Rod attempted to protest, but only managed another racking cough and a whimper as the action aggravated his wound. "T...th-thief...," he croaked weakly, a shaking arm lifting and pointing to the captured Dealer. Immediately, his sisters grabbed for the satchel trapped beneath Dealer, ignoring his curses as they tossed it to the blue Autobot.

Ultra Magnus caught it easily, numb fingers ripping back the tassels and peering into the bag. Upon seeing the holy artifact, the older mech's frame began to shake with baffled rage; closing the satchel once more and pointing accusingly at the reeve. "Take this traitor to the dungeons! His punishment will be meted out at once this evening," he commanded sternly. The officers moved forward to take the true criminal from the sisters.

The moment the order was out of his mouth, the magistrate himself hurried to Hot Rod's side; unaware of the femmes as they drew closer to their injured brother. "Hot Rod," Ultra Magnus mumbled, his vocalizer rife with grief as he knelt by the young mech. "I... I'm sorry. I should have... I almost..."

A smile bloomed across the noble's cheekplates, even as his optics dimmed at pain from being jostled up into the officer's arms. "I-it... 'kay," he said softly, breathing in shallow vents. "Di-didn't know... B-but, c... c-could use a healer..."

"Y-yes! Yes, of course," the older Autobot replied quickly, rising to his pedes; Hot Rod still cupped carefully in his arms. "Come -all of you- to my manor at once. A healer will take care of your brother momentarily." With no concern for decorum or the scene he was making, Ultra Magnus made his way back up the hill to his home in long, even strides; the sisters sharing knowing smiles and quiet whispers as they caught the subtle way Hot Rod curled closer to the magistrate.

* * *

**Jack and the Beanstalk**

* * *

"Well now...," Hoist hummed, tipping his hat back a smidge, "This isn't good."

Bits of brick and mortar fell in tiny pebbles and chunks from soft, willowy leaves, as the stalk -nearly fifty times the width of the gardener- fluttered in the passing breeze. Taking a step back for caution's sake, the Autobot continued to stare up at the monstrous plant; optics shuttering to slits against the bright sunlight as they tried to see how far the twisting sprout reached. Near as he could tell, the stalk seemed to go on forever, past the clouds and maybe even the sky itself. Humming again, Hoist turned to the section of the mansion's outer wall that had been destroyed by the stalk's unexpected growth, then to the bag of seeds he had plucked from his work belt.

"It seems there was something... unusual... about those seeds that merchant sold me," the gardener remarked to himself calmly. "Or perhaps, just one bean itself was bad? Otherwise, I dare say the whole garden would be over run by this gigantic growth, yet instead, only one titan sprout has taken over the entire plot."

Appeased by his deduction, Hoist latched the empty bean bag back to his work belt and returned to gazing at the natural monstrosity. "But what to do now?," he pondered aloud, scratching at his chin with a spade.

Obviously, the plant couldn't stay. Not only was it taking up nearly a third of the mansion's garden space, in less than a stellar cycle's time, it would begin to leech too much from the ground until everything around within an acre or two was dry and lifeless. It wouldn't just pose a problem to the mansion, but to the little village itself, who had farm lands not too far away from the hill top. The wisest thing would be to cut it down, yet that decision would have to come from someone with more authority- such as the local knights or the Princess Bumblebee. All of whom were currently away on stately business.

"This does cause a predicament," Hoist said, beginning a slow march around the stalk. He pulled out a roll of yard tape and started to measure; pausing intermittently to write his findings down when the tape's length ran out before starting anew with another section. "I suppose I should let it stand for now. Though..."

The green Autobot came to a stop, rolling his yard tape up neatly, neck cables craned back as he stared up the length of the giant stalk.

"It would be wiser to catalogue the specimen before any chopping begins. Primus forbid there be some sort of infestation or other unsavory ailment about the plant. Or even some variation of structural insecurity that could cause the thing to topple right on top of the mansion and down the hill!," he reasoned with a stiff nod.

Processor made, Hoist set about collecting his tools and wheelbarrow, rolling them back to the shed before he grabbed a satchel, several bundles of rope, a cutting knife and shoved a swath of parchment, charcoal and spyglass into the bag last. The garden ladder, which he'd brought out earlier in the morn, still lay on the grass near the monstrous stalk, and the gardener used it now to reach the lowest hanging stem.

"I'll have to be quick about this," the mech said to no one; grasping the leaf tightly and pulling himself up onto its bendy platform. "There seems to be too much of the plant and it is already nearing noon..."

That noted, Hoist hurried to make good time of his task, yet despite his best intentions and his quick scaling, the Autobot only made it halfway up the stalk by the time it approached late evening. With a concerned frown, he decided to end his journey where he was; marking his findings of the orn on the parchment he carried and securing the last of the rope around the sturdiest stem he could locate from his position. Packing his things away, Hoist paused with the spyglass in servo, his optics catching the glimmer of something higher above. For a moment, the gardener believed he had merely caught a ray of sunlight gleaming off one of the waxy leaves, but the sparkle came again as the wind whipped the sprout's limbs away from the main stalk.

Curious now, the green mech lifted the spyglass to his visor, lengthening the barrel and tightening the range of the scope, peering up where the sprout thinned and curled like a boa against the blue sky. The glimmer came again. There! Up at the edge of a thick cloud cluster, near enough that one could almost imagine stepping off the stalk and to the white bank in one fluid motion -something was there in the clouds!

Intake choking temporarily, Hoist tried to increase the spyglass' range, but to no effect. Still, he pocketed the device, certain of what he had seen. Gleaming towers of warm bronze, peeking through the wispy edges of the clouds, stationary and strong. Was there something truly up there? A house, if the towers were to be thought real? Magick was not unheard of... sorcery even more so. Grabbing the rope, Hoist quickly scaled back down the titanic plant, as the blue sky bled a reddish-orange with approaching dusk.

He'd be back tomorrow, the Autobot decided, already caught tight in curiosity's clutches. Nothing ever so strange or mystical had ever happened to him before and Hoist could not condone letting this queer beanstalk be cut down until he'd had a chance to get a closer look at the wondrous building hidden in the clouds. Knowing that his morning would be an early one (to collect more rope from the market square), the gardener reached the ground much quicker than his earlier ascent and hurried inside the mansion; dodging questions and frightful stares alike from the other staff as he ate a hurried dinner and tried to catch some recharge.

**xxxxxx**

"Oh... Oh my..."

Standing almost a hundred feet high, made of gold shining in bright luminosity from a cloak of sunlight, sat a palace among a bed of cloud fluff. It had towers at its four points, several crisscrossing bridges of amber along a roof of bronze shingles, and large windows set with opalescent crystal. Even the door, in its majestic cathedral size, seemed to be pounded from a giant pearl and banded with bronze to finish the entire aesthetic. In the shadow of such an architecture, Hoist was mesmerized. The mech was actually on the verge of tears.

Breaking the trance with a shaky intake cycle, the gardener tore his helm away from the unknown palace; focusing on the beanstalk and the thousand foot drop between the blanket of clouds as he clumsily untied the rope around his waist. This was unbelievable, Hoist marveled, his glossa still frozen with shock. To think that there was actually a whole world hidden away up here in the sky, drifting on fluff and keeping a structure as glorious as this palace blind to every optic below. This was more than the humble Autobot had every dreamed about, and the thrill of adventure plucked at his neural grid. He felt so thankful not to have chopped down the beanstalk without climbing it first.

"Silly 'bot," Hoist mumbled to himself, making a little sound as his vocalizer finally clicked on, "You've found a secret palace and now you're twittering away in mindless glee. I daresay that caution is key -things of most evil have donned prettier masks before."

His stout self-chiding seemed ineffective though: a wild excitement was thrumming along his energon lines as the green mech cast off the last of the rope, his visor picking out a path of gemstones among the clouds once he faced the palace again. The walk was almost a mile from the beanstalk, and with every step, Hoist found himself more and more in awe of the palace. Guardian statues of sharkticons seemed to be ripping themselves from the gold walls, as they sat upon beds of bronze on either side of the doors. Filigrees in the shapes of forests, flowers, magical beasts and other obscurities, decorated the structure from top to bottom, cast in diamond and amber, and occasionally spotted with other gemstones. Even the handles on the doors and windows stunned one into amazement, carved out of rubies in eloquent, curving designs, yet not a chip or fracture visible from their unusual manipulation. Everything was perfect -plain and simple.

Stopping a second time, Hoist wiped fingers beneath his visor, dispelling the tears that had swamped his vision. Such a construction had never existed before that he knew of, and the Autobot was certain that some of the crippling reverence he felt in the palace's shadow was magick-influenced. Reaffirming that notion in his helm, Hoist was able to shake off some of the glamour; finding strength in his limbs once more, though it took the better part of several kliks before he could.

"Best make this quick then," the green mech huffed to himself, straightening up and scouring the front of the palace for an entry. The doors may have been several feet from him, but they were still at least fifty 'bots high, likely thicker than that and the handles were about half that distance. He certainly couldn't use them. "Must find another... Aha!"

Just as he was beginning to feel discouraged, Hoist caught sight of a shadow in the sharkticon's bed to his left. Upon closer inspection, he revealed it to be a door, designed for someone closer to his size and made to be near invisible to the glancing optic. A servant's door, he surmised. Grasping the hidden catch in the bronze, in substitute for a handle, Hoist gave a hefty pull; stumbling backwards as the door swung out much more easily than he had anticipated. That little fact set a knot of unease into the gardener's fuel tanks. Shoulders set back defensively, the green mech stepped through the door slowly, following the lit path into the rest of the palace. It seemed as if the servant's door landed him directly in a lounge... and if the palace's construction was to be taken as a gift from Primus himself, than nothing compared to the interior. Silk, jewelry, gemstones, furniture of exquisite make -all of this and more filled the room from top to bottom, but, in a sickening twist, as shambles of their true glory.

He couldn't believe it... Intakes cycling lowly, Hoist optics roamed about the lounge, taking in the destruction and the giant claw marks that lay among them. What horrible creature could have caused all of this?!

"You..."

A meek vocalizer whispered in the cavernous room, startling the gardener.

"You shouldn't be here..."

"Hello?," Hoist called out hesitantly. "I-is... I'm sorry, where are you?"

"Ssh!," came the quick reprimand. "Quiet, or else it will hear you!" Silence fell for a moment after that, then, "I... Here. By the fireplace. I am here."

The green mech's helm snapped this way and that as he jogged from the servant's passage to the fireplace; finding nothing and no one along the shattered ruins of its monstrous base. "Where?," he asked softly, glancing to the large doorway connecting the lounge to the rest of the palace. Only now did Hoist realize how this may very well be a trap.

"Up," the vocalizer sighed, drawing the Autobot's attention to it once more.

As per instruction, Hoist turned his helm upwards, the glow of his visor winking as his optics shuttered in shock at the sight he saw. Well above his reach, in a gilded cage of diamond and gold hanging from a rod jutting from the mantle, sat a strange, orange mech surrounded by white. It was a few astroseconds before the gardener noted that the fluttering wings about the prisoner were actually just the tattered ends of his clothing -it seemed the other was as extraordinary as Hoist himself.

"Who... Who are you?," Hoist inquired in concern. "Who did this to you, friend?"

"Please, you must listen to me," the stranger replied, dismissing the questions as he leaned against the bars of his prison. "You are not safe here -a creature! There is a creature of such terror a-and if it should find you-"

"Then I will go. But first, let me help you out of there," the green Autobot said, testing the brick of the hearth as he readied to climb.

"No!," the prisoner cried, almost sobbing in despair. The sound of it made Hoist pause entirely. "You are not listening! A mech of dangerous caliber brought me here and he will slaughter anyone who tries to free me before I have done what he wants. But that is not important! For as dangerous as my captor is, he is nothing compared to the abomination he is master over- a creature he keeps in this very palace I constructed. Please, you must leave!"

The gardener was just about to open his mouth to ask about this "creature", when a roar like several unholy beasts dragging themselves from the Pit echoed throughout the palace; shaking the walls violently and causing every pile of broken treasure to fall like thousands of rocks around Hoist's helm. Stumbling to the floor along with jewels and coins, the Autobot struggled to regain his footing quickly, feeling the ground quake faster and harder with every passing astrosecond.

The stranger banged at the bars of his swinging cage, screaming to be heard over the continuing roars. "My palace will only contain the abomination, but anyone within is unsafe from its rampage. Get out! Get out before it realizes you're here!"

Hoist was ashamed to say that he run as quickly as he could on rubbery limbs back towards the servant door, terrified for his life. "I-i... I'll get help!," he shouted back, colliding with the wall as he turned his helm to face the imprisoned mech. "I w-will!"

"GO!," the orange mech cried.

Nodding his helm wildly, the gardener began shoving himself into the hidden, narrow hall, catching sight of the abomination before he was out of sight. Only once he was outside the palace, did Hoist crumple to his knees, heaving onto the plain of clouds from the sheer horror crushing his spark. When the spastic shaking of his frame settled and the wave of vertigo passed, the Autobot clambered back onto his pedes and hurried back to the stalk. He was alarmed by the gathered crowd he found standing around the plant's base when he reached the bottom, their worried faces lit in the light of approaching evening.

"W-wha-?"

"What is up there, Hoist?," asked one of the guards.

"You ran to your room so quickly last night," said a maid, clutching her apron anxiously. "You seemed distraught. Is there something up that plant? Is it dangerous?!"

"Where did the slagging thing come from? It's ginormous!," piped the head chef.

"L-listen," Hoist stuttered, dropping from the lowest leaf; the impact nearly knocking him to his aft again, "We -Th-there's a castle up there! In th-the clouds! And it houses a horrible monster-"

"M-monster!?," the maid shrieked.

"Up the beanstalk?!," cried the chef, servo clapping over his spark, "W-we need to cut it down! Immediately!"

"We don't have saws large-"

"No! No," the gardener interjected, facing each of his colleagues in a panic. "N-no, we can't chop it down. There's a mech up there -prisoner at the creature's mercy- we have to rescue him first!"

"Are you-," the guard started angrily.

"I'm serious," Hoist reaffirmed, finding himself suddenly short of temper as the shakes began to settle. "No one is to touch this stalk! I'll send a messenger to the local knights' guild promptly, but until then, the decision is not ours to make. Now return to your stations; it's nearly night."

Looking from the series of faces surrounding him -from frightened, to uncomfortable, and even sour- the Autobot nodded his helm stiffly, certain that they would follow his order. He may not have had any power over them but the garden was his right. Spark pulsating irregularly, Hoist gathered up his tools and rope, rushing inside. He had no appetite for dinner after what he'd discovered this orn, but true to his word, he sent off a messenger before attempting a fitful recharge.

**xxxxxx**

Light poured into the dark hall as he pushed the door open an inch, glad that no hinges creaked or groaned with the action. Hoist was already shaking to his core as it was. After a couple cycles of unsuccessful recharge, the Autobot had gathered a satchel of his things, lit a lantern and climbed the beanstalk faster than he ever had in his function before. Under the light of a full moon, Hoist hurried to the cloud palace; ignorant to the pillars of flame that surrounded each corner of the building, casting strange images on the gold walls. Now he stood, cowering behind the hidden door that led into the lounge, wondering what he would find on the other side. What he did see nearly wilted his spark to a miserable flame.

The abomination stood, hunched over at nearly fifty feet, looking like it was compiled out of several beasts -all talons and wings and other clumsy bits that appeared as if they didn't belong- prowling at the fireplace, dripping strands of oral fluid over the heads of two mechs sitting at the hearth. The one in the cage, Hoist already knew, the other one... he did not.

"I already told you-," the orange mech began. He cut himself off with a shriek as a blade lunged between the bars suddenly like a cobra, slicing across his shoulder plating before he could get out of the way.

The Decepticon standing outside of the cage was as stone when withdrawing his sword unhurried, flicking off the energon before sheathing it. Shoulders back and helm decorated with an elaborate crest, the stranger was the very embodiment of a warrior, yet the skeletal smile carved across his face showed his cruelty. "Silence, builder," the rogue knight ordered crisply. "You are to build the weapon and you shall do so by my Lord's deadline. Failure to follow through will result in more persuasive methods -and I will be certain that it hurts, without ever hindering your ability to create."

Sobbing, the Autobot crumpled to the bottom of his cell, cupping his bleeding wound. "B-but I am o-only an architect!," he wailed.

"And your servos are blessed by Primus' touch," the Decepticon returned dully, lifting a whistle to his skeletal fangs. "If you can create a structure such as this prison, my Lord is more than certain that your gifts can be put towards other fields. And he will not be denied." With a silent summons, the warrior turned and left the lounge, the chimera lumbering behind his stalwart frame with its mindless growling.

Hoist waited a few kliks, but seeing as the sounds of the beast did not fade completely, he took a chance and darted from the hidden hall, hopping the rattling tools on his back would draw no one's attention. "I-i'm back!," he huffed, skidding to a stop before the cage. What luck that the knight had left it on the floor.

The orange mech startled at the new vocalizer, stifling a whimper as he jolted upwards too quick, causing his injury to spill more energon. "Y-you... you shouldn't be here," the prisoner choked, shuffling closer to the bars, "Please! You barely escaped last time -why did you come back?!"

"Because I promised I'd help you," the gardener answered, pulling the axe from off his back. He eyed the cage lock studiously, taking care to line up his shot for maximum efficiency. "Now, hush, please. I'm sure you don't want to bring that thing back this way and I'll probably make enough noise as it is."

"But-!"

Hoist didn't wait. The first moment loud clanging came in a room not too far from the lounge, the green mech swung, his experience with the axe directing it perfectly between the bars. It struck on the spot, ringing for a moment, but yanking the tool away, Hoist saw that it had only penetrated two-thirds of the way through the metal. Dropping the axe, the green mech immediately reached for the hoe on his back next, jamming the blade's edge into the breach when another round of noise sounded out; digging deep and throwing all his weight against the handle. In one wondrous, clean motion, the lock snapped with a satisfying clack, leaving the cage door to swing open without any resistance.

"I-i can't believe-"

"Can you walk?," the gardener interrupted again. The orange mech turned wide, blue optics up towards the other Autobot, nodding dumbly. "Good," Hoist continued, reaching into the cage to help the poor mech to his pedes, "We need to run before we're found out."

"H-hold on!," the architect squeaked, rummaging about the bottom of his cell. He grabbed fistfuls of paper, whether crumpled or not, pressing them to his chestplates as he hurried out of the cage in a drunken-like stumble. Taking hold of the other's forearm, the green Autobot dragged the nameless stranger along with him as he ran back to the hidden hall, glancing frequently towards the lounge's wide doorway.

His spark chamber seemed to drop to his knee joints when, inches from escape, Hoist took another look to the connecting hallway -finding a skeletal knight glaring back in outrageous surprise, his servos ripping his blade free from its sheath in half an astrosecond.

"Treachery!," he hissed. "MONSTRUCTOR!"

At its name, the abomination appeared, throwing itself forward in one massive leap. In dreadful panic, the gardener just barely managed to shove both himself and the stranger into the hidden hallway; the light disappearing in a flash as the entire world suddenly shook around them. "C-come on!," Hoist yelled, somehow summoning his vocalizer over the other's screaming. He pulled the architect to his pedes and yanked him through the narrow hall and out of the palace, the both of them jumping in alarm when a deafening thud echoed across the pink cloud-scape.

"O-oh... oh n-no...," the orange mech whispered hopelessly, "H-he's opening t-the doors..."

The words seemed to take an eternity to sink in and when they did, it was accompanied by the thin line of torchlight peeking through the crack between the doors. "R...run...," Hoist struggled to murmur, his spark rotating quicker and quicker through choking panic, "Run... RUN!"

Spinning on his pede, the gardener grabbed the architect by his collar strut, nearly throwing the larger mech before him. Tripping and wheezing, the pair took off across the open plain, clouds trembling visibly as Monstructor roared its unholy cry to the sky, free at last.

"There!," Hoist screamed over the sounds of the creature giving chase, "The stalk! Climb down the stalk!"

Parchment flying in every direction, the orange Autobot took a deadly leap for the plant's curling top; plummeting for a moment before colliding with the rest of the sprout's body. Hoist was quick to mirror his action. Frame aching, spark sputtering and limbs threatening to seize in terror, they hurried down the beanstalk, allowing themselves to drop for meters at a time in favor of not letting the beast catch up with them. They hit the ground in record time, yet not without further injury, to find an audience of four dozen or so staring at them in wonder.

Hoist was surprised to see so many faces he knew up hours before the sun had fully risen. It did not escape his notice either that the lot were busy sawing at the stalk's base, having fashioned a series of long saws together. Noticing that the plant vibrated and groaned strangely suddenly, the green mech jumped to his pedes and elbowed a guard out of the way as he rushed for the saw's handle. "Hurry!," he shouted to the stunned bystanders. "The monster's coming! CUT IT DOWN!"

The villagers jumped into action instantaneously; half on one side, half on the other side, all pulling on the saw so that it bit further and further into the stalk. Far above them, Monstructor roared at the approaching sun, balanced precariously on the plant as it turned its mad gaze upon the crowd it barely could discern from so high up. Claws keeping it against the stalk instead of simply falling, the beast hurried to scale down, but it had waited too long. Hastened by fear, the villagers had sawed deeply into the plant, to the point that the beanstalk -for all its height and girth- could no longer support the shifting weight of Monstructor. It cracked loudly across the mansion courtyard, causing many 'bots to cover their audios in pain, before ultimately tipping to the side. Howling wind mixed with the creature's last maddening cry, as it rode the falling plant over the village and hills, plummeting into the ocean's deepest depths, the dark waters sucking it under hungrily.

**xxxxxx**

Time flew by in a haze, until the villagers conglomerated in the mansion yard took notice that noon had arrived with none of them the wiser and departed, muttering quietly to themselves or otherwise shaking their helms as they put the matter out of mind. Not yet recovered from his shock, Hoist gathered a rake from the mess and began to sweep everything into one pile, ignoring the beanstalk's stump for the time being. Turning in place, the gardener paused, finding himself face-to-face with the unknown orange mech.

"U-um, I...," the other Autobot began. Lip components opened and closed for a while, before the stranger pressed them together in an awkward smile, venting through his olfactory sensors. "My name is Grapple. T... Thank you. For rescuing me. You didn't have to put yourself out there like that for my sake."

Visor winked as he took a moment to soak in the words, before Hoist shook his helm. "Wrong," he replied to his companion's silent astonishment. Grapple appeared quite distressed at that. "I did have to put myself out there. It was only right."

He jutted his servo forward, catching the orange mech by surprise, but after a few kliks, the architect was more than happy to shake it. "Pardon my rudeness, I am Hoist. I should have started with my name. Please accept my apologies."

"N-no, no," Grapple chuckled nervously, "No, it's... it's quite alright. It's been... a busy night..."

"...So, an architect?"

The larger Autobot sighed, his optics turning skyward longingly as he dropped the gardener's servo. "Yes. I built many a masterpiece in Primus' name: institutions, temples, amphitheaters, castles... That had been my grandest and most enchanted work of all time," he bemoaned softly. The clouds that carried the sky palace were dissipating; no sign of the building in sight as they drifted apart. "And now it is lost, in due fault of that fanatic knight and his Unicron-cursed chimera."

"That was a chimera?," Hoist gaped in disbelief. "But it sorta appeared like-"

"A mech?," Grapple cut him off. "It once was, as I am aware. Several, actually. Loyal followers to that knight and whomever his Lord is. Selected, transmogrified and mashed into one creature by sorcery most foul. Whatever parts that abomination once was, it is now nothing more than a deranged beast focused on slaughter."

"And they wished you to soil your gifts by creating for them some sort of... weapon?," the green mech asked. His companion nodded. "...You don't think it's dead, do you?"

Sadly, the larger Autobot shook his helm. "I'd like to believe so, alas, I cannot. I know the knight lives and the tales I've heard of Monstructor suggest that the chimera is equally undead. I suppose I shall be hunted again soon."

Leaning against his rake, Hoist deliberated on the information presented to him. It had never been in his nature to be so audacious and impulsive, and yet a single bean had steered the conservative mech down a path he never would have dreamed of taking. In less than forty-eight cycles, the gardener had been on an adventure most others couldn't boast and it had been terrifying and uncomfortable and... Hoist regretted not a single decision he'd made during it. Nor would he regret this one, he knew.

"You should stay."

"W-what?!," Grapple stuttered in bafflement. "But-"

"I'm aware of the dangers," the green Autobot continued, his tone calm and sure, "Consider this though. I already sent a summons to the region's knights about the beanstalk and I'm sure they'll want your testimony now that it is gone. Not to mention that they can protect you."

"I-i suppose, but-"

"And," Hoist interjected with a smile, "I'm sure the mansion could use a master architect to repair it after the damage it sustained from the beanstalk. I know the princess would agree."

"A... a princess lives here?," Grapple mumbled, following the gardener's servo as it swept across the yard. A smile slowly worked its way onto the orange mech's face and Hoist couldn't help but to feel pleased himself at the sight. "You make some valid points, good Hoist, so I happily accept your offer."

"Excellent," the green mech replied, slapping the other Autobot on the shoulder plating. He was startled when his companion let out a pained cry at the action, recalling his injury only then. "Let's get that wound looked at promptly and perhaps a hot bath and meal immediately after. If you'd like, I can even give you a tour of the grounds."

"What about the mansion's defenses? Shouldn't I look at them at once?," the architect questioned uncertainly.

Hoist merely chuckled as he gently led the other mech indoors. "After all you've been through, I believe a rest is in order. You especially need a change of clothes, my friend."

Embarrassed now, Grapple looked himself over, suddenly realizing how he appeared in tattered and energon-stained robes. His expression was warm though as he glanced at the gardener, smiling slightly. "Again... Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me. And, I think I'd really enjoy a tour of the grounds."

"Glad to hear it, my friend," Hoist beamed back, missing the blush that rose on the other's cheekplates. Already listing some of his favourite attractions in the garden, the pair headed inside the mansion, the beanstalk's stump glowing in the late afternoon sunlight.

* * *

**Bearskin**

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a mech. He had been reared in the art of war and stratagems, molded to be the perfect soldier among fancy titles and decorative knights. As such, when he was called on by his King to fight a war in his name, the mech boarded the boat and sailed out across the unexplored seas without asking a single question. Where ever the mech went, victory was assured, and the soldier returned home with glory tucked under his cloak.

The awards and gold he expected to receive as trade for his exemplary services was denied him though. The mech was left dismissed, poor and even without home, as his property had been claimed by others while he'd been away. Not one to beg for pity from his self-absorbed brothers, the soldier marched off aimlessly; only the clothes on his back and the sword at his side his only possessions. It seemed fate that he came across a hooded stranger, deep within wild forests.

"I may have a proposition for a self-made 'bot like yourself," the wanderer greeted.

Knowing he was capable of any challenge, the mech smiled.

**xxxxxx**

"Is this truly what makes you happy?"

Onslaught turned at the soft whisper, almost missing it over the loud sounds of the ballroom. Half-steeped in shadows, a smaller mech drew his cloak tighter around himself, glancing around the party anxiously. The soft orange faceplates and vibrant, azure optics were familiar enough on the stranger that, even though they were obviously hidden with a glamour, the soldier knew a pair of silver wings rested on the other's back.

"You again?," he scoffed at the fey, tossing back his goblet. The high-grade was richer than he'd ever tasted before, crisp and bittersweet, and he summoned a servant with a snap of his fingers for another glass.

"Parties, riches and meaningless affairs," the Autobot continued once he was certain the servant had wandered a safe distance away, "Is all this really worth the price of your spark?"

"Nothing has my spark," Onslaught snapped, quickly losing patience with the black mech. Since he'd left the forest, orns ago, the relentless fairy had followed; sometimes appearing in the distance among the crowds or sometimes confronting the Decepticon like this, trying to admonish the soldier for his actions. Short of killing the smaller 'bot, Onslaught had been unable to shake his unwanted stalker.

The Autobot's lip components twisted downwards unhappily, servos held palms-up as he stepped closer to the blue mech. "You wear that mech's coat. You accepted his challenge. You even wear the cloak he carved from that poor Ick-Yak's frame! With every credit you pull from your pockets, you-"

The fey came to an abrupt stop as a goblet of high-grade was thrown in his face; optics flared with shock as they stared up at the Decepticon. Carelessly, Onslaught tossed the cup to the side, barely hearing it clatter across the marble floor as the music swelled once more. "You're a vexatious creature," he began calmly, moving close to the smaller mech. With every step he took, the Autobot took one back, until their little dance ended with the fairy up against one of the marble pillars. Smirking cruelly, Onslaught loomed in, pausing inches from the other's still-dripping face. "I could snap your delicate neck with my bare servos... So, pray tell, why do you continue to hound me? Surely a fey must have other... positions... to be in."

Cheekplates coloured darkly at the subtle innuendo, blue optics narrowing in disgust. "You fill your life with gilded splendors and shallow pleasures for a hefty bargain, yet somehow think you are exempt merely because of pride! I buried that poor beast you slaughtered. I left my home, without word to my brothers, to try and save you from your mistakes. Why do you not care?!"

The soldier snorted derisively, pushing himself away from the fairy. "Spare me your concerns," he replied. "You're the one who set out on this pointless endeavor; don't pester me with your regrets. Seven stellar cycles wearing this coat and cloak are easy things to manage for a lifetime of riches denied me after my services. So unless you are here to offer me some other reward, I suggest you flutter off, lil' fly."

"Y-you... you are horrible," the fairy gaped, expression torn between disbelief and revulsion. "To think I-i cared..."

"Yes," Onslaught agreed, turning back to the party. He grabbed another goblet off the tray of a passing servant, pulling a fistful of gold and even small gems from his coat's pocket that he dumped on the platter as a tip to the miserable serf. The sight of his "charity" caught a number of optics; one richly-dressed and slender femme was especially intrigued and headed quickly the soldier's way. "You are an imbecile. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Moving across the ballroom, the Decepticon met the femme part of the way, allowing her to drape over his arm and ultimately make an embarrassing show of herself. Once the pair disappeared down darker halls, did the fey finally submit to his failures. He could not save this one. Glamour dissolving, Skydive fluttered out of the mansion windows, returning to the forest.

**xxxxxx**

Seven stellar cycles. Seven stellar cycles was the stranger's bargain. For riches that would never end, he had to don the clothes of his choice and not once shed them, nor bathe or wax his plating. After all his training and time spent in trenches, Onslaught was not concerned about the terms set by the cloaked wanderer. To receive all he deserved and even have a couple of bottomless pockets while he put up with this ridiculous bet, anything was worth it.

After the first stellar cycle though, his coat began to discolour and stain, the hems showing a loose thread here and there. The Ick-Yak pelt over top curled a little around the edges, the underside rotting from lack of treatment, while the sparse layer of wiry hairs on the surface were catching bits of feathers, leaves and other debris. Dukes and merchants gave him unpleasant look-overs, but the fortune he withdrew from his pockets still gave the soldier access to their high-style lives.

In the second stellar cycle, the invites came less and less. By the third stellar cycle, even a burlap sack of gold and jewels could not get Onslaught within ten feet of a manor. His Ick-Yak pelt had shrunken slightly with rot, the rest protected by the bulk of slag the wiry hairs had gathered. The gorgeous coat the stranger had traded him had completely lost its colour under a few layers of grime and wear, gold buttons falling off along the way and the hems heavily fraying. His plating was dusty and a repugnant odour had started to settle sometime over the orns as well, making the Decepticon appear like the filthy tramp he'd been aiming to avoid. The soldier's only saving grace was that a number of slipshod establishments still accepted the sour mech. When they did not, Onslaught donated graciously to struggling carriers and their unfortunate sparklings who would house him and feed him for a night.

By the fourth stellar cycle, the buildup of debris had almost overcome the mech completely. Clutching from back to front like another layer of decomposing, matted plating, the Decepticon began to resemble more of a beast and less like a Cybertronian. Knowing he still had three stellar cycles to the challenge to endure, Onslaught began to wonder what would become of him by the end of it...

**xxxxxx**

"Hello? Is someone out here?," came an anxious call.

Roused from recharge by the sudden question, and realizing he had a nasty crick in his neck cables, Onslaught shifted on his bed of hay, helm turned partially to the stable door. "There is," he answered back groggily. "Don't bother making a scene either. I paid for my spot here with the innkeeper."

"No, sorry, I mean no trouble," the intruder replied. Lantern light cast wild patterns across the stalls as the figure drew closer, nippy fall wind kicking up the tail of their cloak. "Ha-have... have you eaten? I didn't see you inside."

Optics adjusting to the sudden appearance of light, the soldier saw that a youngling of very few years drew to his side; warm clothes covering the mechling's tiny frame and a basket cupped awkwardly to his chestplates. There was even a blanket slung over a reedy arm.

"...you should be inside," the Decepticon said softly. "Your creators would be displeased if they knew you were with someone as slovenly as me."

"It'll be fine," the youngling confidently returned. Gold optics shone at the blue mech curiously as his guest knelt at his pedes, a quiet concern radiating from the mechling. "I brought you some hot food. Since you're not staying indoors, a-and I doubt the cooks will bring you something, I wanted to make sure you did not go hungry. And I-i, uh, I brought a blanket. It's not much, b-but I hope it'll keep you warm."

Onslaught watched as the stranger gently pushed both the basket and blanket closer, shifting to make himself more comfortable on the stable floor. It had been many weeks since he last had been treated with any iota of kindness; as his appearance became more and more beastly, the soldier was certain others' attitude toward him would only worsen. Digging into his coat pocket, the mech withdrew two giant fistfuls of coins and gems, holding them out to the surprised youngling. "Take these," Onslaught offered.

"W-what?! O-oh, no, I-i couldn't-"

"I insist," the soldier pressed, sitting up uncomfortably to thrust the riches further. "In exchange for your thoughtful gesture."

"I-i don't n-need payment to help y-you...," the youngling stammered, looking appalled at the notion.

"No... you don't," Onslaught remarked. He leaned a little closer, gently pooling the riches onto his guest's spread out cloak. In the poor light, it looked as if the precious metals glittered once in contact with the pristine clothe. "I wish for you to have them, all the same. Please."

The little mechling gave the Decepticon a strange look, before glittering optics quickly glanced off to the side; chin dipping and a sad smile pulling at the corners of his lip components. Nodding, the youngling gathered the corners of his cloak together around the pile, keeping the money from rolling away in a makeshift satchel. "I... I'd be happy to keep you company, if you'd like?"

The proposition tugged a little at Onslaught's spark, filling him with a warm emotion he wasn't accustomed to. Yet his processor was too preoccupied by the sensation that something about the mechling seemed familiar to notice anything else. Unable to put a finger on why he felt that way about the youngling, the soldier dismissed it, waving a servo wearily at his guest at the same time. "That won't be necessary. I will be fine enough on my own. Please," he kindly urged, "Go inside. Go to your warm berth. It'll be a cool night."

Seeing that he could not convince the older mech, his companion sighed as he gave a short nod. "Alright," the youngling agreed. Holding the bundle of riches to his chestplates, he rose again, looking back at the Decepticon one last time as he turned for the stable's doorway. "I hope the food is filling a-and... and thank you."

Saluting wordlessly at his guest, Onslaught lay back in the pile of hay, listening as the mechling's soft pedesteps faded off into the quiet night. The basket of hot food and thick blanket much needed gifts as the temperature dropped soon after.

**xxxxxx**

Who would have guessed that this would be how it ended...

Onslaught thought to chuckle but even cycling a sharp intake made the injury at his side burn like a thousand flames, neural net writhing in agony as the mech jerked in response. Visual pixels scattering at the fresh wave of pain, it was kliks before any sense of reality returned. Just in time to see a slender youngling wander into his part of the trees.

"Hello? Is anyone out here? I saw some pedeprints and-" A sharp gasp sounded as the intruder spotted the Decepticon laying in a snowbank. "O-oh Primus! What happened?! How badly are you hurt?"

The blue mech grunted as the youngling dropped to his side after a short sprint, servos moving across his frame in tender haste. They paused when the stranger noticed him staring intently. "...Sir?"

"Drop the act," Onslaught coughed, his whole frame spasming with the effort. "I-i know it's you, fairy. You were there too, in the stables... l-long ago... We-weren't you?"

The other mech was still for a lengthy moment, before the youngling rippled in front of the soldier suddenly, the image dropping away like a curtain to reveal the Autobot fey from several stellar cycles ago. "...If you knew, why did you never confront me -then, or during all the other times?," he questioned softly.

Onslaught attempted to shrug, but found himself too weak. The cold had even begun to numb all of his extremities. "It didn't seem prudent," he answered instead. The fever must have finally hit its peak; his glossa had never been so lax and his anger had never been so absent beforehand. "I... I-it's... Onslaught, b-by the way," he added, through a vicious cough.

"I am... Skydive," the fairy returned, his expression downcast and troubled. Servos moving again, they centralized around the knife wound in the Decepticon's side, the energon dried and discoloured through the dingy fabric. "It's gravely infected..."

"P-punks tried to j-jump me for the gold," the soldier choked out, shivering hard. "T-thought they could take 'the b-beast'... I ce-certainly showed t-them..."

"And almost lost your spark in the fray," Skydive murmured anxiously. "A-as it is, you may... you may not survive the week... S-scorponok will ultimately win and your spark will never return to Primus once he has it."

"S-so that's the fragger's name, huh...?"

"I'm serious!," the Autobot cried suddenly. Onslaught shuttered his optics slowly, taking in the other's trembling and his curled fists. Optics filling with warm coolant, the black mech quickly gathered up some of his precious robe; ripping strips of fabric from the hem and piling them at the soldier's side.

"W...what are you doing?," the Decepticon asked weakly.

Skydive did not pause in his work. "I am going to try and heal you. I have seen more than enough sparks devoured by that creature," he explained in hushed tones, "I won't witness another 'bot fall to his tricks... Please, don't talk. You need to conserve your energy; this wound is deep and you're already burning up with fever."

"Ah...," Onslaught hummed, dissolving into a hacking round of coughs. When they lifted, the blue mech felt even weaker, every sensor seeming to spit angry bolts of lightning across his humid systems. He could barely feel the snow beneath him... "I... I'm s-surprised you st-still... f-followed me..."

His vision of Skydive showed the Autobot whispering words of magick into his palms and pressing the gently glowing ball against his wound. "I...," the fey began shyly. "D-despite what I said long ago, I... I knew y-you were a good mech. And I witnessed your goodness grow stronger the more you became a beast on the outside. I... I'm sorry for ever judging you."

The soldier didn't have the spark to correct the soft-sparked fairy. He'd never had a noble spark... Greed and pride had been more important, until his bet with Scorponok had robbed him of his Cybertronian form and the Decepticon had little less than the minimal compassion he held towards others. It felt wrong to mislead Skydive in this matter, but Onslaught had never craved anyone's company as much as he did the smaller mech's. He rather remain good in the Autobot's optics than be alone and dying.

Trying to open his mouth and offer some sort of apology for his own cruelty in that first stellar cycle, the soldier found that he could not even activate his vocalizer. The fever had stolen more strength than he knew and it was a struggle not to slip into blackness now. Noticing his companion's plight, Skydive paused in his work, a servo brushing across Onslaught's forehelm as he leaned forward. "It's okay," the fey smiled compassionately. "Rest your optics; I'll be here by your side."

Soothed by the whispered words, the Decepticon began to power down, fading into a delirious recharge.

**xxxxxx**

Onslaught survived the week, as he did the rest of the winter, but he never saw the fey again once he came to. The only evidence that it hadn't been some fever-induced hallucination was the strips of silver fabric wrapped around the side; still glittery and untarnished after being used as bandages for the infected wound. Though they were not needed anymore, as the injury had healed and his sickness dissolved, the soldier rolled the clothe into a ball that he hid under his shirt, over his chestplates. Their presence boosting his resolve, Onslaught wandered out the last of Scorponok's challenge in the wilderness.

Finally, the seven stellar cycles drew to a close and the Decepticon returned to the forest clearing where he had first met the strange mech. Scorponok was waiting for him, shrouded in his rich, violet cloak. "I see you lived...," the evil spirit hissed, displeased.

"You shouldn't have challenged me if you wanted to win," Onslaught returned smartly. "Now give me what you promised. Deny me and I shall see you writhe in agony."

Snarling under his intake, Scorponok whispered an enchantment over the soldier, dousing him in flickers of green light as the blessing took hold. Once done, the spirit flashed behind the soldier, ripping both Ick-Yak pelt and coat from his frame in one violent, unceremonious tug, before disappearing entirely. Free at last, yet still filthy, Onslaught headed for a nearby stream. He bathed as best he could, donning his old uniform that the spirit had left behind, finding that the pockets offered him gold coins endlessly. With them, the Decepticon returned to civilization, bought himself a modest manor, servants, fine clothes and good food that he'd been without for so long.

He had finally gotten everything he deserved... but none of these things could satisfy his spark.

**xxxxxx**

Music rendered the warm, summer night air, spilling from the manor's wide open doors and windows. Inside, villagers poor and rich celebrated the soldier's generosity; his investments to their community had brought about prosperity for all and a boost in their trades. Alas, the guest of honor felt no joy in the festivities. He'd withdrawn earlier on and stood at the railing of his berthroom balcony, staring up at the stars above. It had been nearly a stellar cycle since he'd bested Scorponok at his own game and still, Onslaught had yet to come across the kind fey. Would he ever find him? Fairies were notoriously tricky to capture, let alone find, unless they first revealed themselves.

So why hadn't Skydive come back since that winter...?

The only answers Onslaught could think of did not soothe him in any fashion. Weighed down by his negative thoughts, the mech leaned against the banister, frustration escaping in a heavy vent.

"Oh my," spoke up a good-natured vocalizer, "Sounds like you're still troubled."

Spinning on the spot in alarm, the Decepticon found himself staring at the fairy floating centimeters off the balcony floor, wearing tattered robes and an uncertain smile. "I see you've made quick work establishing a place for yourself," Skydive continued, glancing around at the manor. "I suppose it's helped, having Scorponok's gold at your di-"

The rest of his sentence was choked from his intakes as the Autobot was suddenly swept up into a crushing embrace, his darkening face pressed tight against Onslaught's shoulder plating. "O-onslaught! W-what are you d-"

"You left," the soldier grimaced, pulling an arm's length back as he cut off the other's spluttering. He remained holding Skydive's forearms though, not willing to release him lest the black mech disappear. "You told me you'd be my side when I was sick and I awoke alone. Healed, but alone. Why did you not come back then or even the orn after I won Scorponok's challenge?"

Blue optics looked up at Onslaught guiltily before dropping to the floor. "I-i... It was for the best," the fey whispered. "I didn't want to get in your way."

The idea that Skydive would ever be a hindrance to anything did not sit well with the Decepticon. Mouthguard retracting, the blue mech titled his companion's face up towards himself, staring intensely into the Autobot's optics. "There never was, and never will be, anything that precedes your worth," Onslaught declared strongly to the flushing fairy. "Foolish arrogance led me down an ill path, but you saw me through it -despite every cruel word and sparkless dismissal, you watched over me and brought me out a better mech. If not for your compassion, I would never have survived."

"W-well, I...," Skydive started. The rest of his words were swallowed sharply when the soldier dropped to one knee quickly, cradling the other's servos between his two larger ones.

"I am not a good mech by nature and I still have much to learn," the Decepticon continued, "But I want you to be the one to guide me there... as my mate. Skydive, would you do me the honor of bonding with me?"

The fey shuttered his optics down on the mech for an agonizingly long astrosecond, before he swooned unexpectedly and crumpled to the floor in front of Onslaught. "I-i-i... y-you... Ma-marry?," he gasped, intakes coming in quick, short bursts.

"You...," Onslaught frowned, struck with the realization that Skydive may not feel the same, "You don't think of me in that regard, do you?"

"N-no! No, no, no! I...," Skydive stuttered, coolant filling his wide, gorgeous optics. "I-i just... I just n-never thought you'd w-want me," he whispered tearfully. "A-after pestering you so, a-and following you a-against your wishes, I-i... I th-thought I was going to die wh-when you were so b-badly hurt... "

"Funny," the soldier replied, pulling the Autobot closer, "I thought I might perish as well, if I never saw you again." Against his chestplates, the fey let out a watery, little chuckle, prompting Onslaught to embrace him tighter. "Skydive...," he murmured, close to the other's audio, "Say you'll stay."

"Y-yes! O-oh, Primus, yes!," Skydive choked merrily, throwing his arms around the blue mech's neck. "Nothing would make me happier than to be your mate!" Spark swelling at the confession, Onslaught pulled away -just enough so that he could tip the fairy's chin upwards, sealing their mouths in a passionate kiss under the stars and moon. Never to be alone again.

* * *

**Thumbelina**

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a mech who was a great scientist! Or, at least, he believed he was an exceptional scientist. The truth was that he strived all the time, working at the wrong things, and always uselessly failed because of it. He refused to be dissuaded though and traveled often in the hopes that he may expand his skills and knowledge. On one such trip, he came across an old femme peddling tulip bulbs for some spare coins. The mech, whose name was Acid Storm for the rare few who cared, did not want such an ugly thing and made sure to express this to the beggar when she approached him. It seemed his words had no effect on the femme, for she smiled after a lengthy klik, unearthed a most repulsive bulb from the ragged folds of her cloak and proceeded to plop it into the scientist's pocket.

Before he could shout in protest, the peddler ambled off, disappearing into the sudden market crowd. Acid Storm, despite being quite disgusted with the plant seed weighing heavily in his cloak, oddly could not find the strength within himself to dispose of it. Thus, he marched home to set it into some enriched soil, certain that the orn had been a complete waste of his precious time. Setting the freshly-watered pot on the sill in direct line of sunlight, the scientist continued on with his afternoon until evening, forgetting about the troublesome tulip bulb entirely.

**xxxxxx**

Sunlight pouring over the little shack as a new orn dawned roused Acid Storm from where he had fallen into recharge at his desk like many nights before. Optics onlining just as the sensation of sore cables began to intensify, the Decepticon forced himself to his pedes and stumbling to the kitchen counter. He pumped some water into a pot from the sink basin with difficulty, then set it to boil, meandering about in a listless daze. He walked by the fully grown tulip without noticing it at first; backing up as his processor finally kicked into drive, staring at the colorful bud in utter bafflement.

"What the...?," he mumbled, leaning in closer to the flower. Even with the richest of soil, there should have been no way that the bulb could sprout overnight and in less than twenty four cycles grow to maturity as it had. This was some sort of trick, the scientist reasoned.

Before his very optics, he noticed the tulip shiver, causing Acid Storm to tense immediately. Caught in a trance, the green mech could only stare on while -almost if orchestrated by some being's breathe- the petals pulled in for an astrosecond before pushing outwards; folding backwards in an oddly, elegant grace, as if the flower was unaware that it was a tulip and not a rose. When it did, it revealed a shining ball of golden light so bright that it dazzled the scientist, leaving him blind for a moment.

"Praise be to Primus on this glorious orn," a tiny vocalizer chirped brightly.

Vision returning, Acid Storm could only look on at the ball of light, slowly forming into a winged figure, no bigger than his thumb. "Oh, slag no!"

**xxxxxx**

To Acid Storm's displeasure, from the tulip's bud was birthed a little pixie -which he ostensibly stood by reason was quite impossible and therefore concluded that the damnable thing had snuck into his house and into the flower by some other route. Sunstorm, as it declared its Primus-ordained name was, was quite mouthy, bothersome and to the scientist's horror, a zealot. Non-stop, the pixie proclaimed that it was born to this plane to spread Primus' message to the world and save the many sparks from their heathen ways, including Acid Storm. Of course, the green mech thought that to be stupid and he constantly brushed the tiny creature off, before resorting to capturing it beneath an empty mug, just to get some peace from its incessant yammering!

Alas, Sunstorm was not so easily detained and he got free shortly, continuing with his annoying preaching. Acid Storm tried to tune the pixie out, tried to toss the irritating fanatic outside, but his efforts were in vain. Sunstorm kept getting back inside, zipping about with his tiny wings and resting somewhere on a shelf, in a sleeve, around the scientist's collar; commenting on his discontentment towards his poor treatment and spouting more slag about "Primus' will". Unable to shake the thing off, the larger Decepticon continued on with his usual scientific endeavours, the constant chattering of the pixie a backdrop to his activities.

This continued for a few orns until one morning Acid Storm woke up and the pixie was nowhere in sight. 'Good riddance,' the mech thought.

**xxxxxx**

"TC! TC, look what I found!"

Thundercracker sighed heavily, turning to watch the purple and black mech run up to him. "What poor creature have you captured now, Skywarp?," he asked, noticing the jar caught between his friend's servos.

Skywarp came to an abrupt stop before the other Decepticon, bouncing on the tips of his pedes. "I did it, I actually did it! You said I couldn't but I caught a fairy," the mech crowed, thrusting the jar into Thundercracker's face. "Now we don't have to till these fragging fields or any of that other stupid slag, 'cause I'm gonna get this fairy to grant my wishes and make us super rich! It'll be great!"

"You don't even do any of the work anyhow," the blue farmer scowled, pushing the jar away from his face a little. He paused to look at the thing inside the jar, shuttering his optics in surprise at the tiny mech glowering back up at him. "Besides, Skywarp, that's not a fairy. It's a pixie."

"It is too a fairy," Skywarp pouted, pulling the jar back. "You're just jealous that I found one and was able to catch it, unlike you!"

"Skywarp, it's a magical creature! You shouldn't be messing around with them," Thundercracker growled, growing concerned when his friend gave the jar a shake, upsetting the orange pixie within. It began to glow to the other farmer's concern, shouting wordlessly in its glass cage. "You need to release it now before you do something to make it mad!"

"No way! I caught it fair and square, and I'm gonna make it grant my wishes and live in a big mansion with tons of servants, and you're not invited," the purple and black mech declared, running off with the pixie before his friend could stop him.

**xxxxxx**

Sunstorm was greatly upset. Some idiot had stolen him away from his cozy berth, that he had made out of tulip petals and bits of fluff on the open windowsill of Acid Storm's shack, then insisted on calling him a fairy and demanding that he grant him wishes. The larger mech ignored everything that the pixie had to say, going so far as to abuse the tiny thing by shaking him carelessly within the jar. Sunstorm couldn't have been madder. Here he was, trying to spread Primus' message and guide these miserable sparks to the one great Creator, and instead he was dutifully ignored and even misused at every turn. His outrage caused something to spark within the pixie and he saw only golden light as he sat and stewed in his impromptu prison.

But when night finally fell, and the idiot was asleep, his friend snuck the jar out of its hiding place and unscrewed the cap. "Please, forgive Skywarp. He's an idiot, but he didn't intend you any real harm," the blue one pleaded quietly as Sunstorm darted out into the open air once more.

"He battered I, Primus' precious servant, about as if I were a packet of seeds! Why should he not be punished?," the pixie demanded.

Thundercracker made a face as he deliberated his response; finally answering when he saw the orange mech attempt to dart over to his sleeping friend. "Wait," he vented, throwing out a servo and blocking the creature's path, "It's... He only wants to make life better for us. He thinks that I am unhappy... but the truth is, I'm happy just being with him. Even if he can be incredibly dense."

Sunstorm was shocked. "So you... protect him? Out of love?" It was a long moment before the farmer nodded. "I see...," the orange mech pouted. He still felt annoyed at his mistreatment, but there was no longer any anger in his spark. Primus whispered to him that it was unimportant and that sometimes in love, one had to forgive another of their mistakes. Love, it seemed, was something to protect. Thanking Thundercracker for his good deed, Sunstorm fluttered off into the night, determined to continue his mission for his Creator.

Even if he didn't really have a clue what that was.

**xxxxxx**

The summer passed by quickly and Acid Storm nearly forgot that he had ever encountered something as scientifically baffling as a pixie. The tulip had died sometime after Sunstorm's disappearance and the Decepticon had swept it out with the trash so that he might clear the space for further experimentation. He became so wrapped up in his studies, and had been exceptionally successful as he found an affinity with alchemy, that it stunned him when he accidentally stumbled across the pixie's makeshift bed. Made out of a hollowed shell of a walnut and stuffed with fluff, the tiny bed had somehow been knocked to the floor and was left tucked away under the edge of the cupboard until Acid Storm had kicked into sight once more.

Its presence caused a queer concern to blossom in the scientist and he wondered whatever had become of the pixie. After all, it was still a living thing... wasn't it? Acid Storm felt torn. He had put off Sunstorm's appearance as some sort of feverish dream he had, but the evidence of its bed only confirmed that it had been real and thus was susceptible to things such as hunger and pain. And now that he thought of the pixie as true, the green mech was loathe to recognize that the summer was fast drawing to a close. Winter would be upon them in but a short couple months.

Could someone as tiny as Sunstorm even survive in the cold?

"I've got to find him," Acid Storm declared to himself, staring out his window into the dark night.

**xxxxxx**

Warm, humid summer orns transformed to cool, breezy fall afternoons and for the first time Sunstorm found himself lost. He had traveled far, creeping into the homes of Decepticon and Autobot alike, whispering to them about Primus while they slept. Some dreamed deeply as he did this, repeating back his sermons; others woke, touched with appropriate reverence as they absorbed the pixie's presence. No matter the result, Sunstorm always left certain that he had turned another spark towards Primus' great good. But then a strong wind caught the poor thing in mid-flight and sent him deep into the forest, where the trees grew so tall and tightly together, that it was indiscernible to know which way would lead him out again. In here there were no 'bots to save.

"I do not understand, Primus," Sunstorm spoke aloud to the towering redwoods. "How am I to serve you when I am lost?"

No answer came and as the weeks continued, the pixie was struck with a worrisome sensation of fright. It didn't seem to matter how far he flew, he could never find his way out of the forest. The animals were kind enough to provide the orange mech with food and temporary shelter, while he searched but they too began to disappear from sight as the first frost drew closer. Sunstorm began to fret. Had he done something to upset Primus? Then a vision came to the pixie as he slept, of an unwitting Acid Storm wandering straight into a trio of hungry Insecticons, waking Sunstorm suddenly.

_He needs you_ , an unseen vocalizer whispered on the night wind.

Finally, Sunstorm understood. "I must return to Acid Storm at once!," the tiny mech said, jumping up into the air. Suddenly, it was as if the trees split apart and a path was open to him. Without a moment's hesitation, the pixie tore through the sky; a miniature comet leaving a trail of star dust in his wake.

**xxxxxx**

What exactly had he been thinking dragging himself out into the forest!?

Acid Storm paused, looking about the dark trees, his lantern squeaking as it swayed about on its handle each time he moved. The pitiful light within could only cut a circle of illumination around the Decepticon though, and no path was visible within that range. "I'm going to die," he grumbled, picking a random heading and marching towards it, "And all for a slagging pixie! What am I even doing?"

A series of chuckles echoed through the trees, thin and raspy, causing a shiver of terror to run down the scientist's spinal struts. "Lookie what we have here; here," something crooned maliciously.

"Tasty; tasty! Yummy, yummy morsel for the chewing; chewing!," chittered another excitedly.

"Hardly a meal," spoke a third. His vocalizer lacked the same buzzing echo as his fellow creatures, but sounded more sadistic for it. "More like an appetizer. A stringy one, at that."

Looking about frantically only revealed three pairs of glowing, orange optics in the darkness; rivulets of silver catching the lantern light as lines of black split to reveal ravenous mouths. Insecticons, Acid Storm realized, his spark trembling in fright. Why were there Insecticons here! In a panic, the scientist threw his lantern at the closest set of optics trying to creep closer, breaking out into a terrified sprint in the opposite direction. Practically blind, it was a poor choice at best, and after running smack dab into a tree trunk, Acid Storm attested that it was a fragging stupid thing to do. He heard the laughter all around him again, much closer this time, and felt as a pair of claws grabbed at his limp arm.

"How silly; silly! I shall relish suckling out your opti- OWW; OWW!"

The screech dragged the green mech faster out of his daze; pushing himself up to see a tiny, glowing ball slamming against the unsuspecting Insecticons. "Leave him alone!," shouted a familiar vocalizer.

"What is it; it?!"

"A pixie! Snatch it- quickly!"

"I'm going to tear its' wings off; off!"

It was Sunstorm, trying valiantly to save him! But why, Acid Storm questioned wildly, getting to his pedes as quickly as his aching helm would allow. There was no reason for the pixie to come to his aid, and yet here he was, fighting against three much larger Insecticons who blended in well with their dark surroundings. That was a battle that no one could feasibly win! And the scientist's predictions were right; glowing as he was, Sunstorm was too visible and it was only kliks before one of the Insecticons wisened to the pixie's flight patterns, catching him between his two servos with a thundering clap.

"It's mine; mine!," crowed the Insecticon in triumph.

"No fair; fair," snarled the second. "Let me have it; it. I'm hungry; hungry!" He lunged for his comrade, growling and buzzing angrily as he attempted to claw the other into freeing his catch. This dissolved into a short fight -Sunstorm seen crushed tightly in one fist while the two scuffled- until the third interjected by throwing the second away from the first Insecticon.

"His catch; his meal," he informed to the other's whining.

"Yes, mine; mine," the first creature chuckled, pinching the pixie's two wings between his claws as he dangled him in the air. Acid Storm attempted to cry out "Stop!" but before he could catch his vocalizer again, the Insecticon opened his mouth wide and thrust the hapless Sunstorm inside. His spark dropped to his fuel tanks as he heard the Insecticon snap his jaws shut again with a wet sound, humming around his mouthful.

"Fine; fine," spat the second, turning his bright optics to the shaking scientist, "We start on this one then; then. He will-"

All of a sudden, a light bloomed to life, getting brighter and brighter faster than one could count. Everyone realized belatedly that the source was coming from the Insecticon's closed jowls, until he let out the most unnatural shriek; fangs opening and energon spewing past his singed lip components. "Heathens!," cried Sunstorm, rocketing from the damaged creature's mouth. He shone like a throbbing star, his usual orange colouring pure gold in the encompassing swirl of flames emanating from his tiny form. "Feel the wrath of Primus for your sins!"

The Insecticons screamed as the pixie zipped through the air, flying faster than the optic could perceive, leaving trails of golden light that burned for astroseconds, dazzling the viewer. The smell of burning plating alongside the cries of agony filled the woods, echoing even after the creatures fled far from optic and audio. Incredulous, Acid Storm stood by as the spectacle finally drew to a close, unable to speak or even move.

"The Pit-spawn!," Sunstorm cursed, hovering in place, still radiating strangely, "What misfortune that they, o-oohh..."

"Sunstorm!," the scientist choked, lunging forward as the golden light suddenly vanished altogether, releasing the pixie to plummet to the ground. Acid Storm managed to catch the tiny mech before he crashed into the grass, drawing Sunstorm closer for inspection. A horrific sight met the Decepticon's optics when he did: the pixie cold and a dull orange, lay with his optics barely online and his intakes rattling weakly. "S-sunstorm, you're- H-hang on," Acid Storm said, his lip components pressing together tightly as he rushed up onto his pedes, "I'll help you."

Unaware that he had somehow found the path again in all that mayhem, the green mech ran back home as the first snowflakes began to descend.

**xxxxxx**

Time slowed to the point of non-existence, as Sunstorm hung suspended between pain and relief. Trapped in this dream-like state, he was aware of nothing but a gentle vocalizer that hummed all around him. Its presence soothed the worse of the hurt, while a second, much softer vocalizer brought the rest to a null. As they worked -twined around each other- a great sense of peace settled on the pixie.

Everything would be okay.

**xxxxxx**

"-GGING PIT!," a vocalizer shouted, startling the orange mech into consciousness. "Would you stop with the early morning 'surprises' already!?"

In a shot, Sunstorm had straightened up from the berth, snapping his helm towards the source of the sound. He was surprised to find himself facing Acid Storm, in his little shack, with an equally stunned expression on the Decepticon's face to greet him. "What?," the pixie inquired in puzzlement, "What's wrong? Is it the Insecticons? Are you alright?"

"Inse- What? No!," the scientist grumbled, shuffling backwards as the other mech rushed towards him, grabbing a servo of his in worry. "Are you seriously-? Would you take a slagging moment to access the situation, please!"

Well, this was confusing to hear at best. Uncertainly, Sunstorm complied to the other's demands, starting to look around the shack and then to himself -noticing after a few, dense astroseconds that he was no longer minuscule. In fact, he was nearly Acid Storm's size now!

"Oh, praise be to our glorious creator, Primus!," the orange mech shouted in delight, beginning to jump in place from excitement. "Primus has healed me of my wounds and given me a blessing of equal height, so that I may better serve him and rescue wayward sparks from the Devourer's clutches!"

"Hey, it was my doing that you've recovered from your injuries; don't-!"

"And you!," Sunstorm vented quickly, using his grip on Acid Storm's servos to draw the other Decepticon tight against his frame. His red optics sparkled as a familiar golden glow began to shine about his plating from glee. "With Primus' gift, I am now fully capable of remaining at your side, as confidant, companion and conjux endura! I understand now that is what He meant when he spoke to me, guiding me back to your presence. This is my true task; my god-given purpose. Praise be to the one true Creator that he blessed you, an unworthy infidel, with such profound knowledge, that you may heal me and make me your mate!"

"W-wait, what?! N-no, I," Acid Storm stuttered, his face flushing deeply in embarrassment and alarm at the press of the other's naked plating. He struggled, reminded of the damage that unholy glow could do to Insecticons; yet instead of being melted down at a single touch, it was a producing a gentle heat that warmed him to his core... and other _places_. That was equally not good. "T-that's not what I- He ha-had nothing to do with my- STOP SNUGGLING, SLAGGIT!"

The orange mech could not be dissuaded though and only cuddled closer to the blushing scientist. "I know you might be a heretic," he chirped, circling his arms around the other's torso, unmindful to his squirming as he nuzzled under his chin, "But with my dedication and teachings, you will surely be converted and granted your eternal wings in the All-Spark one orn. Until then, I shall love you as Primus commands!"

"I am a scientist!," Acid Storm loudly protested, wriggling even harder as Sunstorm continued his speech. "I don't need converting and I don't believe in such stupid, make-belief- MMPPHH!"

And was promptly silenced as his newfound lover caught him in a lip-lock.

**C.M.D: Hope you all liked the new rewrites! Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


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